A short play

HOME FOR THE WEEKEND

Me: Mom, do you have any xanax or anti-anxiety meds I could take for my flight?

Mom: No hunny, but I have some percocets.

A FEW DAYS LATER ON THE PHONE

Mom: Why are you anxious to fly?

Me: I dunno, end of the world...rapture...dunno...i think the world is going to end while i'm flying or something, jet might fall out of the sky. (pause) I guess I just don't trust man made structures.

Mom: You have more of a chance of getting hit by a car or dieing while driving, there's nothing to worry about. Flying is exciting! It's an adventure. It's fun.

Me: I know i know, it's irrational. Maybe it's a control thing. i dunno. I'm excited, it's cool, nevermind. I'm cool. Ya. Ya, hm, yaaaa, okay, ya, i'm gonna get a window seat hopefully.

A FEW DAYS LATER ON THE PLANE

[CENSORED]

this wasn't supposed to be a love poem

the shirt i'm wearing is not Springy enough
but the shirt underneath is too small
i have no alternatives
i'm stuck in an in-between and not liking either option
i move to go to the bathroom
i want to drop through the floor
maybe travel through the cold hard rock beneath me
swim through the taffy, be warmed at the core
then come out somewhere that is elsewhere
a different here that is new for a while
that would be adventurous

instead i'm looking over my shoulder
fear is gripping my back and he won't let go
i keep seeing your shadow but i trace it back to a mannequin
the mannequin knows no love
still it stands there sorta perfect and knowing it is sorta perfect
frozen in coquettish nonchalance
stupid mannequin
i sympathize with the mannequin
i love the mannequin

the surface of the earth is rugged
the shape is more like a potato than a sphere
from the outside it appears dynamic, vibrant, healthy
but the computer models all agree:
a misshapen geoid, a hunk of rock
these thoughts plague me while i stare in the mirror,
when i look at my face,
when i catch a glimpse of that headband on my desk