There will be
No flying for
Bob today
It's too windy
And his T cell count
Is too low
His wife has been
Six months
In the grave
So there will be
No flying for
Bob today.
His Spirit of
St. Louis
That he built
From a kit
Sits in its hangar
Trunk
And has
For months now
He used to fly it
Every weekend
Pretending that the
Orphanage
And the sewage plant
Below
Were triumphant
Paris
And now…
There will be
No flying for
Bob today
It's too windy
Gonna sit in his
Chair
Suck on oxygen
Like some
Wizened
Test-pilot
Watch Lindbergh
On YouTube
And dream
Of the Conquest
Of Air
henrythevamp:
New poem I wrote. I really like this one.