Sierra Hotel 51*

All alone at angels thirty
Strapped into my sleek 51
With a bubble canopy
Breathing air in a mask
Eyes on the swivel
Surrounded by cotton canyons
And the roar of her Packard V-12
Vibrating contentedly
Through the tight airframe
I am alone
With my silver lady.

She is Sierra Hotel
And I'm her tiger.

Responsive to my stick
We sway easily
Peering through occasional holes
In the deck
Toward patchwork fields
Meandering rivers
And ruler-straight highways.

Her four-blades blur
Tips flashing yellow
Pulling us through the thin atmosphere
Hocus Pocus.

Her skin is smooth
Sleek
Polished to a silver sheen.
Her yellow nose gleams
In the flaring sun.
Her peppermint tail
Proud and bright!

I tease the stick
Playing through cloud towers
Swimming the sky
While air frame crickets chirp
Through her lithe little body.

What a lucky man am I!

Were it possible
I would keep her heels high
Never to touch earth again.

She and I
Are made for this
Exhilaration
And I smile into my mask
Breathing her thrill
Nudging us another thousand
Her twelve pistons pounding
Whining
A lover
Demanding
Needing more
Close now to the edge
And we leap heaven
Together
Becoming one
Becoming
Man and his Sierra Hotel 51.


*Sierra Hotel = "Shit Hot"