by James Babbs
I hear the roar before I see it
and the sun brightens the color
against the blue of the sky
the plane makes a sharp turn
before swooping down again
coming in low over the corn
the pesticide like smoke
billowing from the rear
so close
I can see the pilot’s face
and I try to imagine
my own self up there
flying above the green fields
holding it straight
before suddenly pulling up
at the last possible moment
soaring into the light
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDelete