87 RED SECONDS

Grey smoke into the air
Drips from sooty nozzles
In impatient, accelerated revs;
Of formerly discovered jitters
While sweat candidly trickles
Down the many textures
Of my coarse, weekday skin

"Will my luck sail this boat?
Or will I have to steer alone
Or would I even sail
And demand not to fly away"
Unwinding thoughts; anxiety untamed
Colliding in an interface
With no provisions for coexistence

Chronicles of a jumbled safari
Dispensed to me in the briefest space
From a most humble vantage point
I pondered, breathing carbon emissions
And after 87 red seconds
Of unfettered engine moaning
The signal went green again

-K.G.