There are pylons on the wings outside my window.
They are rounded in the front but come to a point on this
side of the wing.
Perhaps if we could turn them around we could be like a
great flying Corinthian trireme,
Catching the broadside of Persian planes with our pylon rams
and hurling them groundwards
Because we were nimbler and had caught them in a narrow
pass.
Perhaps the Grand Canyon
would make a nice spot for historians to return to
And say, “Here who and such sunk five planes and garnered
much glory.”
It would probably all be written down by a large named
fellow and
Students of history would read it slowly wondering what it was like
Peering out of the tiny window
thinking we were next.
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