I’d buy a magazine, a bottle of water, Tylenol.
The flight attendant would take my boarding pass.
It’d be morning when we reached Beijing,
the heavy air, the boys on bicycles, the daybreak Tai chi.
I’d sleep through the flight.
In my dream, the plane would never disappear.
I’d never disappear.
I’d read the magazine, drink the water, take the Tylenol,
wait for the night to pass
while I pictured the tarnished dragons of Beijing
gathering for daybreak Tai chi.
I’d warn those smoke dragons off my flight
snuff their lights, cut the sound.
Enjoy my business lady dreams.
Take my Tylenol,
wait for the miles to pass.
Listen to the plane say hello to Beijing.
Get ready to wake up for morning Tai chi.