Contrails Poem by Stan Petrovich

With my Navajo friend Johnny,
Sitting on a dune of red sand
In Monument Valley, Utah,
And partaking in a little cotraband
Whiskey, we gazed up high,
Squinting in the air toward the sun
Where there was the vapor trail
Of a jumbo jet.

'Where are all those people
'Havin' to go? ' he asked.
'Packed up like those fishies,
Those, um, sardines in a can.'
Told him I did not know.
We rolled cigarettes
And enjoyed being landbound,
Down in the dumps,
Not double-daring gravity
And the jackrabbit horizon.