I Don’t, No

Not anymore. No Immelmanns, loops, dives, no barrel rolls, no tail spins, no flick rolls. No aerobatic air show. This Triple Seven’s a wide old girl. Glass cockpit (yeah, one caught fire, EgyptAir – a fluke). Computer designed. Computer-mediated controls. Never even wrinkle my shirt. Like driving a bus.

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4 thoughts on “I Don’t, No

  1. Wonderful, Rose! I loved the title and the tone of the whole poem. And once again, where you take us! Here’s my response . ..

    Flukes

    Barb of a harpoon
    strikes the lobe of a whale’s tail
    while the pointed blades of an anchor
    catch on the 777’s
    fuselage.

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