James Points the Way to Future, Foreign Adventures
My plane takes off not quite as bumpy in
That flight beyond the crabgrass at the end
Of runway launch as Piper Cub wings win
The sunshine wind of Florida, extend
Their grip and take us jostling through the air
Above a thousand lakes and lakelets spread
Like jostled metal. Uncle James’s dare
Lifts boys, the brothers, cousins, past the dread,
The tiny, tiny early moments of
The soar like roller coaster ride though small,
Not large like heaving at the fair. Above
The flat, flat state the boys zoomed up quite tall.
I’m on my way to Riga now, a realm
Not Mims, with James no longer at the helm.
~ Phillip Whidden