Fear of Flying

Photo by on

The tops of the trees looked so near,
I could have had the biggest pinecone,
If only I would let go of the ladder,
But I tried that on the way up,
And the revolt in my head
Turned my stomach, cramped my leg,
And almost launched me backwards
Into unsupported air. It seemed
I was not yet ready to fly.
Firmly wedged between the upper
Courses of brick and the eaves,
However, hope triumphed over experience,
And I looked out.
As soon as my eye caught
The ground, I spun into the rungs
And, for the second time, proved
The old saw, “Don’t look down.”
There would be no flying today,
And just as well,
For my middle-aged eye
Could not have cushioned
My middle-aged bones
At the end of this journey of conflict.