The Only Mysteries

I think the world could end today,
and as I’m senseless in one big grave,
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t know.
I think about this as the plane takes off.
Two rows up a woman grips a seat arm.
I imagine the plane crashing to the ground.
I’m surrounded by mothers and children.
iPads, bottles, blankets, and estrogen.
I try so hard to not show off why I know
the world’s loudest burp is 109 decibels.

The flight attendant looks like a lovechild
of Eugene Levy and Henry Winkler.
So uncanny a sight, I wish to unselfie him.
Come this December I will be an uncle.
Come three Decembers I will be thirty.
With his grace, I’m reminded of myself.
I think about the last time on facebook.
People poured water on their heads.
I want to ask them what they’re doing now.
How I survive in the world without reading
for two full years. I don’t know.

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