Kerosene Kettles

November 9, 2010

And who does love the romance of travel? Read this poem and let me know..

There are four giant kerosene kettles
Tied to the wings
Of the machine
In which I sit.
Voices speak in the air
Confident and bland.
The owner of one of the voices
Sets fire to the kettles
And the whole machine leaps
Into the air
Me with it.
We all pretend it’s OK
And sit quietly
Until the voices speak again
And tell us
The fire is out
And we can leave
Into a strange city;
Or home.

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