Descending across water into an Asian city at night,
the coastline separates electricity from the darkness,
save for a few solitary lights on boats full of stories.
The captain is reading a book. Or he is working on his
memoirs as a fisherman, father, husband, struggling
for income in a ferocious profession. He works at
night, emerging from the tiny cabin to check on things.
The deck is wet with dew. He steps carefully while
I step into and out of his life. Someone like him
hears my plane thunder overhead and does not react.
I don’t care to meet him. I simply used him for some
Idle musing from above about the anonymous good
Folks down below. Writing his memoirs? Fat chance.
I hope the ministry has sent a car to meet me.
Michael Philips
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prepare-for-landing/
