Haley Winans

Forgotten Headphones

Separated by nine groaning
rows and the crackle

of snack bags, we’re two disgruntled
babies on a flight to San

Francisco, our call
and response screeches through cooing

turbines. This metal crib
has no mobile, no jittery planets

or astronauts hugged by wires. Our moms
look tired, their eyes twitch as we teethe

on pretzels and plastic arm
rests. An old man’s chainsaw

snore is a challenge
to scream louder to you. My binky-sealed squeal

is ripping the deflated
pleather seats, the wings are shedding

sheets of metal. Senior citizens scratch
at the exit doors, pining to get sucked

out to swim through cloud
trenches glowing pink like
worms that endured a storm.

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Haley Winans has poetry previously published in the Scarab. She is currently a student at Salisbury University in Maryland, studying environmental studies as well as creative writing.