Flight

In stalled traffic
public radio transports me
to Jackson, Georgia.
In soft, southern drawl
a beautician named Thelma
describes her new home,
a 727 fuselage bought
from Boeing for less than
the price of a trailer.

She’ll keep the fifty
tiny windows, rip out
the red carpeting,
start over in a space
filled with memories
of clouds and sky,
of altitudes
she’s only glimpsed
with head tilted back,
feet pressed firmly
into Georgia clay.