Without Motors

(c) 2004 Aire Celeste Norell

We are even against the birds now planes grounded, hangars packed with rusting hulks, we have only the taut fabric of hang-gliders—busy executives leap from cliffs, cell phones in hand, like preoccupied butterflies—occasionally turbulence flips one hapless VP still touching base while plummeting to the comfortless bed of rocks below.   Those afraid to fly still walk snack on their own peanuts out of backpacks watch the butterflies—the tiny ones pollinating the human ones perishing—well, statistically flying's still safer than driving ever was.