San Juan

the co-pilot, seated on the left would scowl
the pilot was more amenable to small talk,
on this, our free ride: Miami to San Juan

the brother-in-law gave us a choice,
Puerto Rico or Equator
the ten or so days of our sleeping
on their living-room floor
were fun, the first three days
and he, a Miami airport guy,
offered one of two free flights

having chosen San Juan,
and not caring about the blood-thirsty Burmuda Triangle,
there we were
a C-24 cargo plane with its load
of five race horses, well stalled, well fed,
large, leather, hay-full pouches easily accessible
in front of each stall; one in front
and four others; two behind the first
and two others behind these; last
down, in the tail section, sat a man--
his job, caring for the horses

I don't know much about cargo planes
as a matter of fact, it may have been a C-26
but C-24 twirls my eyebrows more--
and I didn't expect it to be so cold up there

soon enough, I found out
we wouldn't arrive in jet-preen time,
perhaps in seven hours, or more

my love, cushion-comfy on the floor
next to the captain, stared, as I did,
to the everpresent, mountainous stars
housed not in mere magnificence but in abstract vision
you will learn much, staring at us,
we both knew we heard
by the briefest glance at each other's eyes

hour after hour fleeted,
my lovey fast asleep, captainside:
the first boom didn't startle
but the horses knew better
soon enough, the yoke started to jump
pilot and co-pilot, 30-year veterans,
tried to reveal only Calm
but the co-pilot started talking to
San Juan--I was to discover we
were, perhaps, forty minutes from the airport
then: neigh-EEEE, the horses
crazied themselves, each kicking
his stall--for, by now,
the one boom had transformed into:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
and the yoke seemed to fly off
the captain's hands

at one point, as the co-pilot rose,
I could swear he briefly pulled his hair,
as he went behind the cockpit--searching, searching

he found what he was looking for:
a 20-gallon can of fuel--but it could
have been only 10 or 15
my baby was still fast asleep--the horses,
by now, had gone beserk--the caretaker silently sat
on his stool, at the very back

speedily, the co-pilot unwound the cup
of a thermas and handed it to me
I was thinking:they will never find our bodies
and almost dared to awaken lovey;
how she kept on sleeping was a case of
supernal intervention

and lo and behold, the co-pilot placed
a finger on a tiny hole, leading to the fuel tank
and ordered:hold the thermas cup and don't shake--
i'll fill it and you pour the fuel into the hole

there we were:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
heee-heee-heea--horses
voicing their concern
and with the first cup-full, I didn't spill
a drop--but there were more than two
hundred--perhaps three hundred to go

every time more than 7 drops skipped
the little hole, both the co-pilot and I
deathrattled in nightmares of unclogging vascular tease

we were twenty minutes away,
by this point, and the plane
started to hum
it must have been more than 280 thermas cup
loads, the little hole accepted--and
perhaps 3 or 4 spilled down

was, perhaps, 3:00 A.M. when we landed
my love started to awake as
the wheels hit the runway

the airport was quite empty
of passengers or, almost, anyone
I wasn't in a great hurry
to tell lovey

mostly, clearly, I remember
us passing the pilot and co-pilot, inside,
after a while, sitting on chairs facing a closed snack bar

such blank looks I've
never seen, before or after;
a crippled fuel gauge pin
almost killed the horses
~~
..Dec. 24,2012..(C) 2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram; reaching into
the poet's mind
~~