Matrixulating on an Early Morning Plane

We board in the dark.
Light bronzes two headrests:
The third is waiting.
There is talk among
Some of the passengers about bending
Spoons with just energy.

An ear-muffed, black-capped man
In the basket of a cherry picker
Sprays de-icer on our wings
Which bubble goose bumps in reply.

We’re a plucked bird,
Pteradactyling toward lift off.

Mexicana airlines pyramids by
With a green tail.
Southwest plumes its ports
With red and blue,
Sand and orange.
The rest is frost white,
Until light golds the signs and edges.

We turn and exchange eyes
With the sun—
A grumbling roll
And we fly.

The ice layered city below,
Stalagmite-mouth bites
Into the blue-grey lake.
A higgledy-piggledy
Great wall of Chicago
Peters out early,
Before it gets to Wilmette,
Certainly before Wisconsin.

Michigan clouds herd together,
Silver backed all the way to New York—
Except for one swath of something
Islanding through.
Land? Ice flows?
The plane knows and shivers a response.

A message encrusted on the engine cautions:
Disconnect Hydraulic electrical and feedback
Systems prior to c-duct removal.
Disconnect fitting under hinge access
Door prior to removal.

Is that what it takes to bend spoons?

Another clear patch appears below us:
A black and white map—
All rectangles and squares.
Etch-a-sketch rivers thread through.

All clouds over again
And we just fly.