grounded by your country (poetry)

not since I was seventeen

have I been in a similar state of lockdown

.

back then it was

beaming home with the early light

with complete disregard for any promises

of minding a curfew or sobriety

jeep a degenerate comet

reeking of beer and weed

and I an alien approaching a staircase

where I cross paths with my captors

for a mild chest bumping match with pops

before crashing into bed with my keys taken away

slurring some confining threat of my own

.

the only comfort

is all my new countrymen

are grounded too

no restaurants no bars no cafes no museums

but they did spare us our beloved coffeeshops

public transit still runs if you dare

but what’s the point of going

to the ghost town next door to yours

.

and all our spaceships

that jet us around the expanse

of sea and earth

have fallen too

left looking at the sky

longingly like flightless birds

.

at schiphol

I see them roosting

on the runways

fixed bright blue

in the callous sun

.

next we submit our codes to our captors

authorities with our best interest

at heart if not mind

there is no other choice

but to click accept

burrow workers

into the illusion

that you

haven’t

selectively

lost

your

wings

vincent a. cellucci works at the library of the Delft University of Technology in the Netherlands. He is the author of Absence Like Sun and An Easy Place / To Die. He edited Fuck Poems: an exceptional anthology. His works in poetry and other mediums are at vincentacellucci.com.