Flight to Paris
When the oxygen runs out,
Grandma slurps at the thin air
around her. I’m gettin’ woozy
she gasps.
Then, I never went to Paris,
tremoring hands gripping the empty plastic
tube, the lifeless lifeline.
Don’t wait to go to Paris, don’t
wait for anything.
I’m speeding her home,
the tank having run dry
at a family picnic. In a half
hour or so, she could pass out,
her heart could be strained
and I feel strained too,
somewhere deep inside,
each red light a siren screaming,
It’s over
every green light
wailing,
Don’t wait, don’t you dare wait.
*Published by Red Savina Review









