Falling six miles.
Falling out of the blue.
Falling six miles,
What did they do?
She fell so very far,
Then fell through a roof.
Which bad guy can we blame?
There’s this dearth of proof.
He took a funny picture—
“Here’s what it looks like.”
He’d fall really far too,
His body may be by the dike.
Coal miners searching in the sunflowers,
A nightmare worthy of Van Gogh;
Shot down by a ‘birch,’
Perhaps landing in a forest below.
A new mother missed the flight,
Relieved, but shaken, by a twist of fate;
Excused from the rushin’ rain of bodies,
Delaying her trip to St Peter’s Gate.
Falling six miles.
Falling out of the blue.
Falling six miles,
What can we do?
Yes, we have the Black Boxes.
No, now we don’t.
All’s fair in Love and War.
Can’t tell the truth, or, won’t?
What did you do in war, Daddy?
I shot down this plane.
It was a terrible mistake,
I can’t go to war again.
Falling six miles,
Falling back to you?
Falling six miles,
What will we do?
They fell for six miles.
They fell for a very long time.
They died on a trip to paradise.
No one will ever pay for this crime.


About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on July 18, 2014, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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