The Wright Brothers Flying Slack-Jawed
Mar 30 2009


There were 2 babies
pre-boarding,
intricate strollers
folded, stowed.
Cute, asleep like that.
Please . . . , we all silently hoped.
Some prayed.

Every seat filled.
A late arrival, breathless
stuffing luggage overhead.
If you need to be told how to buckle-up
I silently chuckle,
perhaps you should take the bus.

Taking-off
excited kids in window seats,
white knuckle grips
about to bleed,
and bodies pressed back, stiffly.
And some happily chatting away
indifferent.
A loud clunk, wheels-up.
Then full thrust
that feels like a moon-shot,
rising impossibly steep.

They said heavier-then-air machines
were impossible.
Plastic
had yet to be invented.
And a bare electric bulb
dangling from its cord
made visitors ooh and aah.
A hundred years, is all
and the Wright brothers would be flying slack-jawed,
rocketed into the future.

The lights dim
jet engines throb.
A fitful baby, screaming,
a jilted lover sobs.
While cokes are sipped and pages flipped
at cruising speed,
40,000 feet closer to God.