On Not Being Charles Lindbergh
Snow on the ground
cold outlines the curves of our thighs
making love with socks on
Charles Nunsegger and Francois Coli
missing over the Atlantic
with ten days’ supply
of caviar and bananas.
I've been a bit slack lately about sending out requests for permission to use poems - so one of my own again today. I really need to get those requests going as I'm running short.
This is an odd wee piece which was included in Flap: The Chookbook 2. Yes, it's a winter poem really, and it's not winter here, but never mind.
I received some newspaper clippings from the Wyoming State Library regarding the obituary of my greatgrandfather's brother who emigrated to Cheyenne, Wyoming from Scotland and died in 1927. On the same page was a fragment of an article about two missing French aviators, so out of curiosity I looked them up on google and found that they had tried to cross the Atlantic a few weeks before Charles Lindbergh made a successful crossing. They were never found. So this poem celebrates those who tried and failed, the unremembered, the also rans.
(You can purchase Flap online at Fishpond by following the link above).
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