How the Best of Them Bite It

"They had their barf bags out
and ready," he said of
his fellow Cessna-mates
on the flight back to Vegas
from the Grandest of Canyons
twenty years younger, the blink of an eye.
"The captain yanked the yoke
back steady, but didn't seem
too worried."

There were two men
accustomed to turbulence
onboard-- one more
formally trained than the other
though neither shy of seeing it.

"A couple next to me asked
how I stayed so calm.
'What are you gonna do
if it goes down?
Nothin','
I told them
and went back to my brochure."

He pointed his nose up
as he does at the end
of a story, crystalline blue
eyes much younger
than their true age.
Tufts of red hair poked out
from under his ragged welding hat
and looked orange
with the end of summer
shining through.
There was no denying
his stance in the world.
Off the record, I was jealous.

You can tell when a man's
embellished a tale.
There tends to be
a flutter of lashes, averted pupils
a twitch in the corner of lips.
There wasn't.

It's sage advice of the free variety
like the old man
on his deathbed
surrounded by distraught kin
who replies wisely
when asked what to do
when he passes:

"Last one out shut the door."