Fancy Chain

I'm patching a hole in one of the window 

screens in my white camp cabin. Thinking 
about how frightening it will be to sleep in it 
tonight. With things so easily able to come in 
and out. The type of screen door that is light 
and brittle with rusted hinges and no lock,
bouncing in the door frame a few times with 
each gust of wind. I'm wearing mostly white 
linen and this is my personal cabin. A narrow 
wooden rectangle layered in white lead paint.

   When I finish the patch I walk to a meeting 
at the administrative building where we meet 
two distinguished guests. They offer us a ride
in their helicopter. I decline because it seems 
dangerous. K and I instead begin walking back 
to camp on the straight main road through the 
clean town. The helicopter is flying slowly
along the road above us. Too low and too slow 
just ahead. A single black boxing glove hangs
from the helicopter at the end of a silver chain 
very low to the ground. 

   We pass clean churches and cafes with a 
fake color and clarity. Violet and red stained 
glass. Clean plastic chapels like Vegas or Utah. 
We know the helicopter is going to crash so 
we go into a restaurant.