Post
by the mingo » July 10th, 2009, 9:11 pm
Chicken Legs slid his flat Indian ass into the seat of his helicopter & strapped himself in. He hit the switches and tested the controls. Just as the big blades began their slow spin he looked through the cockpit glass. A bullet fired by one of his government's own guns in the hands of the opposition was heading toward him at several hundred feet per second. It pierced the windscreen where it went into a wobble &, in this way, penetrated the frontal lobes of his brain plowing a furrow an inch deep through his right hemisphere before exploding when it encountered the back of his skull. Chicken Legs' neck then his body were lifted & thrown back in the pilot's seat then toppled forward. His last thoughts were not of home.
Dedicated to those serving tonight in Afghanistan, for whatever reason. I hope when you come home it is in the remembrance of the whims of leaders.
Chicken Legs, I know you can hear me. I know your real name in your own language. It means, He Climbs. And you did. Again & again & again & again. Your last climb you had just begun that day.
They had to send a bullet at you to stop you from making the sky. I'm sure by now you have reached the top. For me this is goodbye for now. I'll never forget you.
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.