Cabin Class Poem by Bernard Henrie

Suddenly, on a flight to Roanoke
with a snoring seat companion
and a highball, I think of you
in Durham many years ago.

Duke cheerleader uniform,
a dotted dress on humid afternoons.
Skin like a Gainsborough.
The sunburned water lilies
and our crowd at the lake
dancing to a Philco radio
and a gaggle of wasping stars.

My drinking out of control,
a lost job, then another.
Promises emptied
into the rising dusk.
Scenes and the fruitless drying-out.
Slow motion drift into the past,
voices fall, dancers slide to a stop,
a hock and seltzer, the smiling
cocktail shaker. Sweetness
in the mouth ending with a bite
and bitter aftertaste of olive.

A passenger plane heating-up
and angry words on the boarding ramp,
tears brushed sideways in the prop wash
and your ring glinting in overhead lights.