[Followers of my work may know that I ‘have a thing’ about ‘plane coming into land’ poems. To my mind these are the modern versions of the railroad-track poems and songs of the early to mid-20^th century or of the ‘fear of shipwreck’ motif in the erotic poetry of Ancient Rome. Different from railroad poems, however, which tend to follow a highly predictable rhythm, ‘plane coming into land’ poems veer from cacophony into eerie calm, with unexpected line breaks and cross-cutting shifts of rhythm, before thrillingly but anti-climactically touching down. It is, therefore, much harder to get them right.

Fortunately, I am helped in my latest outing into this nascent subgenre by my beautiful invented assistants—Zhenya and Kseniya—in particular, Kseniya, who provides a little added in-flight turbulence with her mock rendition of Emma Lazarus’s iconic Statue of Liberty poem. Apologies to anyone who may be offended by this.

I am letting these mischievous characters get the better of me a little and take control of ‘my’ poem. But I am very happy to cede to their will. I like trying to write in voices that are not entirely my own. ]

Kseniya’s Song to Liberty

‘Our wingéd legs span oceans’

Kseniya opines, as pilots

turn the engines off

and they descend

graceful in air

over the statue raised to liberty

into the airport named for the slain

president. Kseniya refuses

to belt up, or take her seat,

or take the miniature

of vodka from her mouth.

“Here stands a bitch on heat,

a mother-fucking mother of all

orgasms achieved

across the seas.

My headlight eyes look up

to you and roll

in swoon that’s fake

and snare your storied deeds,

with copper and aplomb,

dumbed voice and puckered lips.

From fabled ancient lands, weary,

impoverished and breathless,

we set foot on your fertile over-

peopled soil to suck the life-blood

from it and breathe our poisoned breath

over your young, our way

lit by your horny lady in the harbor

and the smoldering torch she bears

to tempt the huddled sailors,

sirens, slaves,

far from their homes

to tempt the seas and dash perhaps

their hopes and limbs on rocks

that are no more their own.”

*

Zhenya stirs from sleep.

She’s slept the whole flight through.

“You got that memory stick?”

Kseniya: “Course I do.”