Bi-wing planes hang like kites
High above sleepy open fields.
Gaily colored, cloud-like, hovering,
Always close to the rural airfield.
Not so the sleek single-winged planes.
Coming, going, to and from unseen places
Flying quickly over the sprawling streets,
Higher and higher, neck-stretching high.
Blue jets scream and streak
Low, past the high school smokestack.
Distant dark dots, they dance above the horizon,
Then explode overhead and are gone.
(Richard M. Feldman) Ever since I was a young boy, the only thing I wanted to be was a cowboy. I wanted to own and work on a real ranch, with cattle and horses. Especially horses.
While I never became a cowboy, considering everything I have done
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