The Millennial Pedestrian

B-17

Ungainly silver airborne thug,
built to drop down hell;
warted with ball-turrets and in no way sleek,
this glinting relic thunders overhead
flying low above the Hudson,
just about my age and no more useful.

And somehow it is grand to see it
banking oh so carefully above the Tappan Zee
four tremendous, complicated motors
singing of a time when birds like this
could fly on two of them
and make it back to England.
Loving volunteers restored it skilfully
so that we could thrill to watch it lumber by
and envy what it did when it was young
and brave and ruthless.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 30th, 2005.
It's part of the Old Poems category.
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