The Man in Twenty-Four “B”

Behind me on the plane
the man in twenty-four “B”
spoke obnoxiously loud
to the passenger with whom
he sat shoulder touching shoulder.
His voice cancelled out the pilot’s
warm toned welcome and
even the roar of the engines
failed to smother the man’s endless noise.
He spoke more than once of
North Dakota but could only
have had a passing acquaintance.
He was no native of the land
for he was too boisterous
arrogant and confident
to possess any reverence
for the prairie and sky
the wind and the winter.
The plane touched down
hard on the concrete tarmac
and a for a brief moment he fell silent
but not long enough to know
either awe or wonder.
I looked out the window
and imagined a place
far beyond the city lights
where winds speak the loudest
and skies shrink everyone below
and the sun sets on the gentle slopes of the prairie
and I am speechless with how little I know.