Flying, before and after

Whoever thought –when

They were five and executing

Their best wingspan to zoom around and beside

Green, branchy cumulus

While kicking up a dusty

Ochre jet stream–

That a data-laden slip of pulp

Enabling them access

To what is, in effect,

A death-defying sort of contraption

Possessed of a touch

More grace than even its makers

(who, God bless them,

had sense enough not to name the thing

‘The People Torpedo’

….talk about foresight!)

Would end up costing them so much?

Sometimes the betweens

Of here and there

Are too fuzzy or painful or

Far, far too detailed to recount.

I’ll tell you something

That suddenly occurs to me:

In the everywhere between

Where I emerged furious-squalling

And where I stand easy now,

All manner of wings have

Borne me, expectant, up….

But this girl has

Somewhat inexplicably come to live

In a whole mess of red places.