Levity

This evening, against the orders of the fire ban
and your sound advice, I’m burning the magazines
but I’ve hurt myself on the lighter.
Now I’m sucking my thumb watching the birds
settling for the night.

Through the shimmering haze of the incinerator,
I can see the empty sky and the vanishing point
of a passenger jet.

Perhaps a Montgolfier balloon used the smoke
from burning old magazines to help itself aloft
when it carried the first passengers; a sheep,
a rooster and an unconcerned duck;
not a seagull.
It was believed within the smoke there was
a special gas called Levity.

The black roosting birds dart and hiss like cinders.
They are witty critics in evening jackets
hurrying to their club.
Smoking cigars and saying ‘tch!, tch!, tch!
and joking that the beginning of air travel
was the end of flight.