Air Traffic

On approach horseflies radio the tower:

“Cleared for landing, behind ears,

back of the knees, unreachable scapula.”

Aircraft swirls at all altitudes,

from ankles to baseball caps.

Black flies hover at the edge of the eyes,

beetles, reliable crop dusters, chug along in feathery solos.

Mosquitoes thrum fly-bys,

cockpit lights flashing “Low fuel. Mayday!”

Dragonflies zip in right-angled reconnaissance,

surveilling wildflowers, soda cans, the dog leash.

Monarchs’ airshows, grasshoppers’ puddle-jumps, and

honey bees’ droning deliveries -- all vectors intersect.

I imagine a hangar where the fleet grounds itself for the night.

Around a fold-up table, pilots play cards and drink beer.