Wings

You've always wanted wings.

You'd point up at the sky with a smile,

Squinting because the sun was too bright,

Then turn to me with glowing red cheeks, saying--

"Look, can you see it? Look how high it is!"

And you'd keep watching that goddamn bird.

I didn't understand why.

What's so good about wings anyway?

Birds are over-valued, over-wanted, over-rated.

Why romanticize their desperate flight?

WE have airplanes, jets, ships, and cars;

All they have are their flimsy, hollow wings.

But you still wanted to fly.

It didn't matter what it took.

All you wanted was to be a bird, to have its wings.

You gathered your wits, your guts, and yourself

And launched off a six-story building,

Thinking you could fly, if you tried.

How stupid can a person get?

Of course you couldn't fly.

Even if you wished hard enough, tried hard enough,

Humans-- you and I, we weren't built for it.

But I guess you did, if only for the seven seconds it took

For gravity to claim you once more.

We were never meant for wings.