Wingwoman – Poem

Every pairing requires

a pair to begin. Like Nana

said, it takes money to make

money. You need two wings

to walk between

an open cockpit biplane—

An open bar—

Both empty out

in a flood of endorphins.

I thought I’d polish the steps

like suction on polycarbonate

hold fast the moving bullet

and dangle at the verge of death.

I was the kid that poked at

rattlers. But experience focuses

and risk grows intimate.

Small talk for small spaces—

wing walkers nearsighted, only see wings.

Tonight the bar spins in dimmed fancy.

Accolades shroud the late night attrition.

I frontload my girlfriend to myriad men

many snakes in their own right.

Many open cockpit biplanes.

I scan faces like metered lyric

buy into rhythm when I can. For this

I hold fast. Every pairing begins

as a breach of a prior pair. My

girlfriend doesn’t see how quickly

she’ll be taken up, loved. I will

do the steps. Leave her to laugh

let someone else in. This

is how you exit,

this is how you wingwalk.


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