JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

On a drowsy morning

between bird talk

and silence of mountains

a crop duster roars overhead

like an angry bumblebee

 

If the words close, treetops,

daredevil, breathless, spray,

stunt and wingtip have anything

to do with one another, this

yellow storm has them all

 

Not to mention insecticide, pungent,

carcinogenic, chemical and poison

 

At five thirty or thereabouts

he kisses his sleeping children,

gets into his battered jeep,

drives down to the field airstrip

 

Schubert’s impromptus are playing

on the radio and he thinks Schubert

and orange blossoms are the closest

things to pure perfection

 

He’s a helicopter pilot when on

reserve duty, twice decorated for

bravery.  The six o clock news comes on,

a long wanted terrorist was driving his

car when a missile fired from the air

hit the vehicle.  The terrorist managed

to throw himself out in time, escaped

with wounds but four bystanders

a woman and her three children

were killed

 

Before getting into the cockpit he calls

home, chats with his wife.  He drinks

a cup of strong coffee

 

The coffee tastes like mud