Descending across water into an Asian city at night, <br />the coastline separates electricity from the darkness, <br />save for a few solitary lights on boats full of stories. <br />The captain is reading a book. Or he is working on his <br />memoirs as a fisherman, father, husband, struggling <br />for income in a ferocious profession. He works at <br />night, emerging from the tiny cabin to check on things. <br />The deck is wet with dew. He steps carefully while <br />I step into and out of his life. Someone like him <br />hears my plane thunder overhead and does not react. <br />I don’t care to meet him. I simply used him for some <br />Idle musing from above about the anonymous good <br />Folks down below. Writing his memoirs? Fat chance. <br />I hope the ministry has sent a car to meet me.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prepare-for-landing/
