The Crash

We lost engine power
and then cabin pressure
so the pilot came back to say a few words.
He apologized profusely and said he felt personally responsible,
and everyone really appreciated that.
He said it was OK to smoke if we wanted to
as he lit up one for himself.

He was very fatherly,
and did a good job of keeping everyone calm
and acknowledging all faiths and cultures.
He briefly shared some of his favorite memories
of growing up in a small town in Texas
as our jumbo jet hurtled towards the Pacific.
He quoted a Bible verse
and a line from a Talking Heads song
and looked at each person on the plane
as if he had known them for years.

The flight crew made sure everyone had a wine glass
and then we started passing around the bottles.

We raised our glasses for one last toast,
which was made by a very eloquent, flamboyantly gay flight attendant named Richie,
originally from Savannah.

As we polished off the wine,
sealed plastic baggies containing ether-soaked rags
dropped from the ceiling.
We buried our faces and took long deep breaths
and then curled up with our fellow passengers like a big litter of puppies
for our final descent.

When we hit the water
our bodies broke apart like starfish
each arm tumbling off on its own trajectory
into the vast mumble
leaving little trails of fizz
that dissolved almost as quickly as they had formed.