I have a friend who is a cowboy, <br />he flies fast jets for Uncle Sam, <br />persuaded me to come along <br />'twas a Sunday in September. <br /> <br /> <br />Smart uniform, exotic helmet, <br />strapped in behind a crazy guy. <br />He handed me a largish bag <br />that had blue string around the neck. <br /> <br />'Hold on to this, you may not need it', <br />he said on take-off, up we went, <br />we reached five g when your whole bod <br />gets heavy and you cannot wave. <br /> <br />Or speak, or lift your hand or grab <br />the pilot by the shoulder grimly, <br />the bag was used then, held by hands <br />that did belong to other sprits. <br /> <br />I told him how the flight was fun <br />but others did deserve a chance <br />so I'd stand back for two, three years <br />remembering that string-choked bag.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/joy-flight/
