To compose a symphony
on an air-sickness bag…
The orchestra locked in this small tube
and tuned up on pretzels and ginger ale.
There is a groundhog day style repetition
to air travel:
everything happens twice:
flying up and coming down
rise and fall
take off and landing
and then again in French.
This is some symphony
this is some canvas
this is some orchestra.
I’m convinced that nobody on this plane plays
the obo or the trumpet.
We’ll have to improvise!
For percussion: the tape of fingers on phones
For woodwinds: The shitty air mover/compliments that are nothing but hot air.
For brass: the slurp of drinking and the ding of the seat belt sign.
Call it the 9th symphony of this 1 hour flight.