Wednesday Poem: Do Top Dogs Care

Illustration insert by

I place my body — life, in hands of
corporate heads and engineers
I am in my seat perched above a wing
and through this little porthole peer.

I slide my sight along its graceful lines,
to its distant tip, vague among clouds.
We’re far from earth up here.

I know this wing’s shape from books,
a form imagined by the brothers Wright
and other seers; a shape that lifts and
holds us up, aloft, until a runway meets
our landing gear, until all nuts and bolts
designed to be just here, just there,
perfectly in place, set and tightened
to the breadth of a hair are proved in hope
that no other inclination drives the calculus,
trusting that the bottom line of corporate worth
is not the top line for which its top dogs care,

Jim Culleny, 5/31/24

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