White rope

I try to imagine myself
in that tiny little airplane
streaking across the sky
leaving a tail of white rope
to match the glistening
silver braid of motorboat
wakes on the lake below
But my mind shies away
one second I am sitting
between a fat woman and
an unwashed man staring
at my book and the next
my mind has flown me
back to earth to a wooden
bench in the park before
I can feel anything before
it can become real but
in only a few days it will
be very real and there
will be no escape no way
to climb out of the plane
and slide gently down
that white rope back to
earth or maybe somewhere
else like a secret motorway
to the past or the future or
a great coffee shop in Paris
where my only fear will be
running out of room for
the chocolate croissants