the miles I can cover I do cover furiously.
Trundle climbs are graceful
as a man one hundred pounds overweight
mid-crosswalk in rush hour
at the turn of the light
who doesn't bother to look
because he knows most already are.
It's the power dives
that shine and I am
always too close for missiles
screaming Stuka-like between buses and
sedans with 30 millimeters ablaze and
exploding car horns in my wake.
A tanker flies by night and
the reflection of my fuselage on it is
what a dragonfly must feel
seeing itself rippling along the surface of a pond
and I would be remiss to let so large a target
go to waste. Chase is given
in a running fight from light to light
down Penn avenue
before dawn rise and the tail gunner is good,
but I'm better;
the heat of exhaust is burning my nose
as her engines burn and break up and she's
forced down
at the gas station around the corner
in mushrooming flames and smoke.
I am bringing my bird in
at my apartment door, making a note
to go back and raid what's left of the downed bogy
when I'm ready to pick up a bag or two of chips
this afternoon
aces higher than the sun
shining clear on my aviators.
shining clear on my aviators.
