I Am Ready And Willing To Perform The Tasks Outlined on The Placard Located In The Seat-Back Pocket In Front Of Me
Obese businessman hands grazing lower quadrants & trespassing bodily boundaries 
fully-lodged tray tables Slip the Metal Clasp into the Buckle Excel spreadsheets Bloody Mary mix Is that psoriasis?
Vacant-faced contempt prohibits Snack Packs from getting fully-lodged 
in the tray table while the seatbelt sign is illuminated. 
Step aside *Five Star* members, I have 
additional leg room!
Desiccated fluorescent skin upright and locked positions Why does everyone look like their own unique kind of monster?
The tampering and disabling of my Tanqueray & Tonic is strictly prohibited by law. 
I am not a team player, much less a volunteer
firefighter.
So what happens when the federal regulations
require passengers to perform the
following functions:
the oxygen masks aggressively dangling 
overhead compartments bursting
trampling and gasping 
grasping 
at plastic tubing 
Urine-soaked Dockers. Club Soda with lime.

I am not assisting the other passengersI am grabbing all of the safety equipment
available to meI am pushing, pulling, turning or otherwise manipulating the exit mechanism and throwing the door out of the plane.
I am removing obstructions, deploying and stabilizing I am skimming down the red
slide to safety
I am manning 
my own inflatable raft 
to the mainland,
to the tune of 
Michael McDonald’s  
Sweet Freedom.

kat kluegel (she/they) is a poet from Minneapolis, Minnesota who is interested in the less rational aspects of being human. She loves the color red, riding the bus, an earnest exclamation point, and the word crabwise. She is working on a book-length lyric essay exploring the intersection of eros and grief. This is her first poetry publication.