Hit from underneath
The right wing flares, oscillates
Wildly. Within the cockpit, attempting
To deflect, the pilot reflexively puts
Up a hand. How sudden is blood--

The window a cleft, split lengthwise,
Dispensing splinters?
Two hundred feet up, breeze, flames
& glass choreograph frailty.
The flesh is a dance partner, air-borne
But sinking in a vacuum of onyx.

It?s for this we set red corsages
Like pin wheels
On look alike stone groves,
For this black arm bands are tied on biceps,
Clot innocuous. Circulation doesn?t get
Cut off, only begins to tingle, tug
Pulses visible along adams apples.

Those throats grow hard, swallow bile,
Spurn patriotism for a minute,
Then, tasting hot ash,
Torch half mast flags,
Croak anthems in private.

©2003, Stephen Mead

---

Next page > “Big Monkey Says Ha!” by Ken Blackburn...
Poems for Peace collection > table of contents

---

Previous Feature Articles
By Date | By Topic

---

---

Subscribe to the Newsletter
Name	Email

---