Please point this bird toward Little Rock and fly
Me home, 'cause I've been gone away too long--
I'm on the ground, I should be in the sky
Like any mockingbird--tell me I'm wrong.
Oh pull this string as far back as it goes
And shoot this silver arrow to my girl--
Put thirty-thousand feet under the nose
Of this here plane, and spin round this blue world.
Now sling me at my baby and be quick
To it, 'cause you know Sloth's a deadly sin,
And speed's your virtue--show us all the trick
That Hermes taught the Wright Brothers back when.
Now set coordinates to Sarah's bed--
Let me float down like feathers round her head.
2 comments:
Written Sunday, May 14, waiting on an airplane in Dallas.
A heartfelt cry, and movingly executed. The sonnet version of Fly Me on a Jet Plane. Love the mix of vernacular and heightened lingo. Might suggest "That Hermes taught the Wright boys way back when" or some such in order to keep the meter.
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