Aluminum Flies

everything up here is aluminum two extra thousand feet
above
the clouds we were advised to avoid.

the hard cart shuffles past
plugging the aisle and
emitting designed aromas
to flirt with my thirst.
as driver is a woman
surely my junior
that smiles with all her teeth and
dimples
flashed to make everyone feel just as special.
the embellished rickshaw wafts these
smells that also deliver
snapshots
of people that otherwise would not occupy my mind.
[she drank diet coke warm
despite a summer sun
matching its false sweetness
which she feigned
better than a rookie councilman] pungent moist coffee
salty bloody mary mix
stale yeast beer
these liquids have grown as tired as
the memories they adorn.

up here I have time to kill
as a casual defiant gesture against these thoughts
[crash]
that would have me killed.
I am sorry for this fly that
took a wrong turn at the tarmac
to end up dieing in this aluminum tube
up
far up above
sumptuous piles of bull shit and
shiny plastic trash.
I pocket hope to
soon make it back to the dirt
sense of smell also intact.
you are there
where
I would have my eyes focus closer
to better know the greens of yours
blinking
slowly
with warmth and rest.