Gravity, or Fear of Flying

Soaring in a metal bird,
I glance down to death below
through a window the size and
shape of my fear-filled face.

Pressed against the shoulders of
a young shipbuilder from San Diego,
who smells of Jack and Coke,
I feel ridiculously small.

An ear-splitting "crack" announces a shaft
of light that turns dark clouds white
and night into day.
The plane bucks, and stomachs lurch.

Identical thoughts fill individual minds:
Fear of the pain, preceding death.
Is this how it ends? Even the irreligious
forfend their mortality with gossamer prayers.

Drama subsides, and the plane lands safely.
We voyeurs to human fragility
disembark, having once again
escape punishment for defying gravity.