Daniel B. Silver



It goes check-in, checkpoint, bar, bathroom, board
On my trip away from you
We pass through the bulkhead to stow in overheads
Sit down, strap in and let the anxiety build

 Earlier in the day, I washed, packed and panicked
A few hours prior, I paid all my bills
A short while later, I lugged bags to the car’s trunk
Key in ignition, driving further from you

 The stewardess tells us where the exits are located
Some woman in polyester, she’s bored as she says
That the buckle goes this way; the cushion can float
Lifesaving info that we all ignore


The day before I left, you learned that I love you
Out of nowhere - left-field - my fingers pound keys
Imagine my horror when I can’t read your expression
Imagine my glee when the affection is returned

 We taxi to runway and throttle to airborne
Outside the window, the world streaks by
Five dollars per little bottle because I can’t sleep upright
Five hours I sit there and write and write

 And now that I’m out here, on this vacation
A place for relaxation; a locale abroad
I see you in my head and feel you in my veins
I can’t think of anything but when I’m to return

 In exactly four hours, I’ll return the rental car
Then check-in, shoes off, x-ray, bar, board
I’ll pay five bucks for a drink and lower my tray table
Back in time three hours; back in town with you

 I’ll greet you at work the following morning
And hope up on high that you smile when you see me
I’ll punch in, suit up, log in and roll out
And somewhere, in another car, you’ll be doing the same

 At some point, under night’s starlight, I’ll catch you alone
If your lips quiver, then my hands will shake
I’ll get closer and closer; you’ll stand suddenly still
But a surveillance camera or coworker will keep us apart

 One day it’ll go: phone call, short drive, clandestine meeting
I’ll pray to the heavens that you don’t stay back
And though strangers will all file past us in daylight
In my field of vision, it’ll just be you