To Fly

I am not a feathered being,

But still

In the evenings just before

The sun went down to hide,

I used to fly.

The summers were the best.

The cooler air caressed my arms,

The neighborhoods had yet to settle,

And the lower clouds surprisingly

Had a flavor

More like city water

Than a cotton candy cone.

I started learning currents of wind

And drifting deep in thought.

My arms grew tired.

I decided taking weeks to rest

Was for my good.

I haven't flown in fourteen years.

I've gotten old and fatter.

Yes, I tried a month ago

And almost broke my leg

From jumping off the roof.

I study my flimsy aluminum ladder

And consider how I miss the sky.

It wouldn't be the darkest fate

To lose a limb.

- 8/1/25