Go to the Casbah.

Go to the Casbah

by james bezerra

Few places are better,

when you’re young

and happy

than the smoking patio

at the Casbah

at Kettner and Laurel

at the top of the hill

and the jetliners

come barreling down

out of night

just as if inches

above you,

landing gear dangling

maybe just moments,

or a strong crossbreeze,

from your fingertips

and only seconds

from tarmac.

The jetwash whir

and whine

so loud

it drowns the music

wafting out

from the band

and reminds you

to be alive

right now

because 300 tons

of swiftly descending steel

and a slight miscalculation

and this drink in your hand

might be all there is

in your last half second.

.

.

.