Pteranadon dreams

It’s a damned big, scary world out there.  We’ve figured out a myriad ways to stay isolated even as our numbers increase and our means of communications improve.  I’m just wondering what kind of event it might take to bring us back into community and I’m not really sure I want that kind of event to really happen.  My theory, based on pseudo-scientific, poetic silliness (thanks to Ted Stevens) is that the current rash of apocalyptic movies out is a reflection of our longing for the ultimate party invitation.  You know, the one that reads, “You’ve got five minutes left to live—be a hero now or forever lose your chance.” 

Pteranadon dreams

If the plane begins swinging wildly,

or if I look out to see a wing unbuckling itself

from the fusilage,

small brackets flying in all directions—

or if a pteranadon lands on top of the plane—

leathery wings folding over my window,

wild teeth chewing through a crunchy outside

to find the soft morsels within—

would the stranger sitting next to me,

reading the Skymall magazine with such attentiveness,

would this large and stolid man accept my hand

so that we would not die

alone and friendless in an empty sky?

                                    Rhonda Palmer