IDLE

WORDS: MORGAN DARKES HILL
IMAGE: RACHEL EVA LIM

Our canal in Florida decays in late July
A computer idles for me, as in, holds fuel out of the air
I stall about the windsock for the density on the radio
I'm taxiing too fast
While on the ground
I live alone

The chattelesque relationship persists in avionics
Blades take bites of wind all while the slaves get set by bugs
The masters dictate currents as they alternate for power
This reminds me of men drilling out the pylons at my house

The foremen are from Michigan
I tell my friend
"I met a republican;"

I hated him sarcastically,
like the idea of low-fat milk

as in, I might elect daily the content of my dairy
and this is a political problem:

drought.