The view from Annapolis

Through the terminal window I watched angels sucking jet fuel from stationary planes through gilded straws.  Gracefully, these giant ghosts knelt down and shepherded planes from the air onto the tarmac on flawless olive palms.  Their bearded faces were obscured by clouds.  As I boarded my plane, I watched an angel pluck a harp with strings of fire in my mind’s eye.  I imagined myself to be a giant crater filled with lava where tired angels are melted into nothing.  So long angels!  That’s what I said.