Howard Firkin
Georgina, flight attendant on the plane
to Melbourne, who is far too beautiful
for any man in 30D to pull,
prepares her demonstration to explain
the safety features. I can only stare.
She stands, the goddess of the aircraft aisle,
an act of prayer made of this routine task:
life jacket, safety card, seat belt, and mask;
rewarding the attentive with her smile,
dismissing the dismissive to the air.

Gods keep their distance from us. She’s the same,
now somewhere thirty thousand feet above me.
You don’t chase Gods; you just worship the name:
Georgina, Goddess who will never love me.