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OK, here’s what I want you to do

right after you get to your gate:

 

try writing a poem that is just

a list of all the names you remember

 

Ms. Lee calling to line up for recess,

one by one, boy-girl-boy-girl.

 

As you board the plane, think of it

not as a crawlspace caving in on you

 

but as a hallway as wide as the one

that would stretch itself out and carry

 

you and Hazel Errett and Kyle Calise

and Megan Perez to the playground,

 

where the four of you swung in sync

and swore to flunk first grade together.

 

Unplug the emergency exit hatch

mid-flight and light a cigarette.

 

Let their names fall from the sky

like credits rolling in reverse.

 

This is your captain speaking. Now,

remind me again where we’re going.