FLIGHT PLAN

William Doreski

A fledgling sparrow trembles

with a futile effort to fly.

I toss a few crumbs from my scone.

A parent sparrow picks one up,

stuffs it in the fledgling’s beak.

With a chirp of enlightenment,

both birds flutter and soar away.

The hot day has served itself

sizzling on asphalt. Humans pushing

strollers bare themselves, barely

decent, sweat oiling their hides

as they order iced mocha lattes

at the friendly walk-up window.

Their toddlers slump like sacks

of grain, drooling as they doze.

No wonder Stevens noted

tinsel in August, no wonder

his speaker caught an ice crystal

amid the fidgets of summer flame.

The ice in all those beige lattes

might congeal into a fist

and smite the unwary when

the imagination relaxes

in a modest drone of crickets.

That fledgling had to think itself

into flight, but not over-think

so that its senses lost their grip.

No wind today. A moment

for novice aviators like me

at sixteen, piloting a small plane

over a maze of tobacco fields.

No one fed me a magic crumb;

but my instructor ate a sandwich,                                                                        

and with a full-mouth mumble

advised me to watch the horizon

and this time try not to crash.

 William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His work has appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught at Emerson College, Goddard College, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent book is Stirring the Soup.  williamdoreski.blogspot.com