To the Pilot Taking Off as I Drive Past the Airport

The storm broke up
Cuba and Miami            when it hit
Hollywood      scattered splotches
foaming skies                  on I-95

across from the airport
I’m flying
in a Honda Accord      your jet pumps
poison into blackgrayblue            lifts
its white nose while the interstate
lifts left to Lauderdale
all this behind                  fuse
hurricanes with trails of exhaust
for a second            clouds drown you
then this whole fucking sky is yours.
Brendan Walsh has fallen in love with South Korea, Laos, and all of New England; he currently lives in South Florida to sate his palm tree needs. He been published in Connecticut Review, LONTAR, Wisconsin Review, and other journals. His second collection, Go, was published by Aldrich Press in 2016. His work has been awarded the Anna Sonder Prize of the Academy of American Poets, the Leslie Leeds Poetry Prize, and a Freedman Prize for poetry in performance.

Photography by William J. Stribling