Who’s Afraid of Flying?
When the man in the row behind me
starts shouting that he wants off this plane,
I start thinking
how I’m not really in the mood to die today.
I’ve got better plans for the next five hours,
not to mention the next five decades,
starting with getting in a few winks
before we land in Munich
and possibly finishing the book I’m reading
which I don’t love and certainly don’t
want to be my last.
The flight path says we are currently
over the Atlantic,
which isn’t ideal
if this guy goes ape shit
and we need to make an emergency descent.
And anyway, with five hours left,
they haven’t served breakfast yet,
even if it’s just gonna be some rubbery scrambled eggs
and watered down coffee,
I paid good money for it,
not to mention the extra $80 for the aisle seat
that landed me right in front of this guy,
who is currently rocking back and forth
repeating, “Get me off this fucking plane!”
while his wife
who forgot to switch her husband
on Airplane Mode before takeoff
whispers and tries
to calm him down.
I really don’t feel like getting sucked out
of the emergency exit
when he finally can’t take it and lunges for the door
a few rows behind us
partly because I’m afraid of heights
but mostly because I still like my life,
and falling through the atmosphere
to an early death
isn’t on this year’s “bingo card”
as the kids say,
nor is it part of my long term plan
to die in my sleep
at a rickety old age.
“Be quiet!” shouts a man
one row ahead of me
which is probably the last thing that’s going to
make this guy be quiet,
and now I am stuck between rows,
already missing my wife,
who I knew I wouldn’t get to see
for a while,
but now may never see again,
despite having followed all the safety guidelines,
even took my shoes off at security,
stuck my liquids in a baggy,
put my laptop in a separate X-ray bin,
even paid attention
to how to apply the oxygen mask
in the “rare” instance that the cabin
becomes depressurized.
Not that I remember any of it now
when I may actually need it
as the German flight attendant finally comes over
and asks the man, “Is everything all right?”
even though it clearly isn’t,
and he says,
“It’s just hard, you know?”
and I know.
CLINT MARGRAVE is the author of several books of fiction and poetry, including the poetry collections Salute the Wreckage, The Early Death of Men, and Visitor, all from NYQ Books. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Threepenny Review, The Sun, Rattle, and Los Angeles Review of Books, among others. He is currently a 2024-2025 U.S. Fulbright Scholar living in Sofia, Bulgaria. When not abroad, he lives in Los Angeles, CA.
Read more by Clint Margrave
Poems in B O D Y
Poem in Pedestal Magazine
Poem in the Florida Review