Flyin' Low
By Mike Moutoux

I had both hands on the stick, the nose wheel on the ground
A heavy stack of cargo in the hold
I’d pilot that load through some nasty stuff
“Keep your eyes on the horizon,” I was told

With a grunt I throttled forward putting pressure on the stick
I got ‘er up and moving, but it was a fight
I wished I had paid more attention to the loading
It seemed a little heavy on the right

That old bugger had manual controls and no radio
A bucket of bolts she was and past her prime
But crash her and no one blamed machine or mechanic
Everyone assumed the blame would all be mine

But I couldn’t keep her straight and was losin’ power
The ground below was startin’ to really spin
No time to bail out, no ‘chute to save my butt
I felt it in my bones-we were goin’ in

Time slows way down during times like that you know
And during my descent I found that true
The ground came up in slow motion it seemed to me
I just watched cause there was nothing I could do

Now the fact that I wrote this poem should tell you something
Yes, there was a crash but I go through ‘er
And though I still pilot a wheelbarrow now and then
I don’t pile it quite so high with manure

©Mike Moutoux 2007