They hover
like jetliners, stuck inside the clouds
Catching the occasional glimpse
Yet cannot make the descent
Til clearance is granted
The runway warmed by the sunlight
Resting in expectation,
desiring something
Not sure what
Cause the operator says
“I’m not sure which of them will fit
No damage allowed on my watch”
The clean-up crews on stand-by
Just incase of distress
Like the past time
In recent days, she’s let some get close
but refused to receive their landing gear
Some call it fear
Others call it knowing
Enough to see when what one needs is not what’s being given
The evidence is in the actions
Not the declarations
Ask the oppressed ones if words on a paper
Mean anything on their own


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