The geese take over the runway
when production of the F14 shuts down.
Long after their winged visas expire
these immigrants stay
on Long Island, finding the climate
kinder than Canada.
Clipboard in hand, heavy with you,
I waddle into the boneyard in search of scrap metal.
Nesting with her green goslings in a broken cockpit,
a gray mother hisses at me and refuses
to leave the pilot seat even after I flash
my Government ID. I put off the disposal
of this fuselage, while I wait for these fledglings
to become juveniles, for the military
precision of their flyby.
