• The captain cleared his throat
• for perhaps a minute
• rubbed her nose tip
• cool, hard and prickly
• And then up.
• plain khaki shirt and slacks
• by sonic violence
• killed in an aircrash

The captain cleared his throat for perhaps a minute. Phoebe shuffled her feet, seeming just about bored enough to create a scene. Hoping to distract her, I reached over and rubbed her nose tip, which was cool, hard and prickly. She smiled. Finally, the captain began his speech, and I along with Phoebe and all the rest learned what real boredom can be. At last, he bade us all take our seats and the vehicle sped down the runway. And then up. The plane climbed like a firework, mashing me back in my seat and flattening Phoebe’s plumage. Our frightful acceleration didn’t seem to impede the hostess, who looked beguiling even in her uniform of a plain khaki shirt and slacks. Phoebe pecked the back of my head when I swiveled it to observe the hostess’s progress down the aisle. I wondered if perhaps the captain’s lugubrious oration might have contained important information, for the rate of our ascent continued to increase, as did the noise. Conversation was rendered impossible by sonic violence emanating from the engines. Thus I was unable to inquire as to whether, should we break apart somewhere above the atmosphere, people on the ground would still say we’d been killed in an aircrash.

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