I am not sure why I didn’t post this when I wrote it last year…….better late than never.
This is a poem about what flying in the Marine Corps is like.
Enjoy.
-Mark
The Widow Maker
Into the “Widow Maker”
At the Sumo hanger I entered.
She, the “Hercules” number 13
Painted in oil and combat
With her tank pulled out
So that I could shove even more
Men in her stocky body
They came from her backside
Wreaking of sake and gunpowder
Ungrateful as ever they sat
On the crimson jump seats I provided
“For you the seat of honor!”
I screamed at the top of my lungs
Squish
Thick red liquid dripped now
From his ass as he complained
About how the air burned his eyes.
Stinging fumes filled my lungs
A mist of sweet pink vapors hit my tongue,
“It’ll put hair on your balls!”
I’m not sure if my words or my hand
Shoved him back into the wet spot
Where she bled, every time I jammed full
Of sweaty drunk men.
The frigid cold of the heavens
Now touched my bones, made me tremble
A tangy aroma of fecal matter wafted by
Now thankful for the cold, I drifted to sleep
A blur of grey, a flash of yellow
The course sand ground into my face
One glance out the window and time stopped.
The golden blazing image of the phoenix
Seared my mind as I battled the sleep
My drums nearly burst with the piercing bell
Ring, ring, ring,
Out the backside they left – as quickly as they had come.
As if the wind sucked them right out of our life,
Almost quiet now save for the pounding of my heart
Alone at last, she and I
We take this final ride together.
-Mark Smith 2009
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