Runway 26 left
The asphalt,
slightly uneven with endless wear,
Expands in the heat of the day
and tears from dusk 'till dawn.
She is a typical woman,
accepting when she wants to be.
Her aura does not alter as
she changes from honey warm
softly into ice.
She treats men with indifference,
underlying mischief runs through
her now greying mask.
The women are treated to a friendly face,
hiding her cold, manipulating ways.
She is as moody as she is sweet.
One can never figure her out,
or so, as she likes to think.
The experienced can see right through her
but they have paid their dues.
I plead and push,
coming into land
my aircraft sucking in its gut,
hoping she will
yield
and gracefully,
allow me to land.
My wheels
coursing over the now curved and lined girl.
Ultimately slowing with careful streaks,
so as not to scar
and leave extra lines
on her weathered face.
I would not have guessed
I would have kissed the asphalt,
without having the misery of lost precious cargo.
Nor the mortal wounds to my steel.
She is an old lass
and has earned due respect,
For accepting you when you were new
and bringing you home safe
time and again
Even if you didn't really deserve it.
Back to Poetry Index
