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Helicopter by John Grey

Helicopter in range,
the whump, whump of its rotor blade,
inches from the sunning skyscraper.

Air’s pushed down,
so hard, it’s dense as mattresses
at ground level.

Stillness is ripped up
like an old carpet
by shrill noise, asphyxiating shadow.

Oxygen hides from predators
wrapped in the nearest tongue.

Vacuums raise the flag.
Void crack the very pole
they fly from.

Upthrust is everywhere.
Downthrust is driven deeper into its boots.

It’s like the bellowing breath
of a mountainous giant,
the whoosh of the dead
leaving their bodies.

And it’s all in the aid
of telling the world
the woes of traffic.

“Today,” the voice intones,
nobody gets where they’re going.”
Except, that is, somebody who goes straight up.

John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in The Lyric, Vallum and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge, Southern California Review and the Oyez Review.