Barbara J. Hamby

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What Have the Wright Brothers Wrought

At last, I found the poem I wrote ten years ago at a poetry workshop with an aviation theme. Poets gathered in Vancouver, Washington and toured Pearson Air Park as part of a two-day workshop.

Those Magnificent (Wo)men in Flying Machines

Confound my muse. Wouldn’t it be glorious
if we could fly without all the fuss
of checking bags which take their own trip
(to who knows where) or holding on each hip
carry-ons while moving down the aisle
with absolutely no sense of style?

Perhaps someday, if we properly train her,
a person might fly sans a metal container.
My muse reflects on that joyous thought;
maybe flight insurance could not be bought.
Who cares? We’d even give up in-flight dinners.
None of those meals were ever big winners.

Think of moving through uncluttered space,
quiet, cool clouds touching your face
as your body follows with infinite grace.

As another student in my writing class remarked this afternoon, we’ve already given up in-flight meals. Also, when this poem was written, security was not the issue it is today. Flying is even more complicated and less fun than it was then.