She Was An Air Traffic Controller


She sat alone, crouched in silence in the airport observation tower;
Cold, sad, and tired, just like always.
Jet streams have become memories and the only thing for her to cling to.

Will this be the last night she survives?
She knows there could be a flower for that auburn hair out there somewhere.
But she won't find it here.
She will be alone tonight in the pale glow.

Now she sits in the smoking lounge at Chicago midway.
A cordial gentleman offers comfort in the form of a smile.
She remembers warmer days, but now everything is temporary.

And the thought of sabotage brings a smile to the lips that
Haven't curled that way in sometime.
These passer-bys know her best, which is barely at all.
And when the sky is filled with fire again, she'll sit back and sigh.
Friends come and go this way, curled, burnt, and barely recognizable.
In this new year the only thing falling from the sky will be the metal graves:
The caskets she made for herself.

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