but won't fly, drives his truck
to teach or give a reading.
For me, death by plane
would be the finest way to go.
You'd have some time for final
thoughts the whole way,
and the right kind:
when my car went in a tailspin
all I thought was "Shit!"
You wouldn't be alone.
Not like a murder
in a darkened alley.
On a plane, another passenger
might hold your hand.
You'd hope the pilot, turning in a nosedive,
would pull out; if not, the end would be
so quick you wouldn't quite believe it.
This is all the poet says:
"It is a long way down."
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