I am lucky. I get the wedge,
Angling on, on every pledge.
At the end of the runway, I pitch
and into that airstream, my wings cut some lift.
I soar, not slouch, beyond my 50ft.
My wings trail vortexes
Their airfoils with gravity play tricks
And I smile at those perplexed
that saw me dying at the apex,
Kutta was right, rejoice in the cockpit.
And I am not the one,
the bloodily level running one
that jump the fence to impale
the next pretty thing that crosses the lane.
Would you know now, pilots should not cut it
or rave in disbelief at the end of the strip?
Because old age and MILFs, my friend, shall be no dreams
Wedge, Wedge, into the nascent airstream.
'
Do not go level into that airstream, a (nearly) inspirational poem by Dylan Tomcat