Sunday Sun Setting

She’s picking up trash
‘long Airport Road
late Sunday sun
airstrip mowed,
My glass of wine
hangar door open
I wave at her
perhaps hoping,

Acknowledge the wave
walk to the fence
talk about trash
the present tense,
Discuss the litter
that people throw
out their window
then let blow,

I raise my glass
of wine and say
“would you like a drink
like to stay?”
Watch the sun
from my hangar door
she says “why not
do you have more?”

I open the gate
she strolls in
I get the bottle
of wine, again,
Pour four fingers
in a Lexan mug
dragged along
like an airport tug,

To the run-up area
the pre-flight site
she asks if I sleep
in the hangar at night,
Sometime yes
when I don’t fly
“what are your plans?”
she answers “why?”

We talk about litter
talk about trash
finish the wine
splash by splash,
I ask where she lives
“down the way
perhaps you could
come by, someday,”

The sun sets lower
she says “you know
it’s getting late
I should really go,”
But she drags her feet
and I drag mine
with nothing but space
and nothing but time,

Hangar bunk room
is small and crowded
I guess I never
really doubted,
We’d end up there
as we do
each exploring
someone new,