Cruising The Details

Propellers blur with the slurring of a roar
Individual beats too fast to ever count
The WAP of a propeller blade as it butter churns the air
The small explosion in each of the air cooled cylinders

Once lined up and rolling
A dirty grey streak upon the concrete strip
Calloused hands holding us down upon the earth
Until the tires are rolling as fast as they ever dare
With the fear of cord separation in their black rubber eyes

Control arm torques upon flight control
Pushing down upon weighted end
Fabric covered trailing edge soars upwards
Applying pressure downwards
An action-reaction in action

The nose soars upwards at an alarming rate
As the waterline tilts accordingly
Spilling all of its weight and balance secrets
Upon the altar of the fulcrum

Thrust and lift carry ever upward always forward
Are all the lights green?
No
Are all the important ones green at least?
Yes
Ok, let's go

They say that cargo doesn't care
In the way and manner of its handling
But those who say such things
Haven't been trapped in a tube with glittering wings

With all the monkeys in their crates being resigned to their fates
Sliding backwards like the unsecured cargo that they are
Approaching the aft pressure bulkhead at a terrifying pace
Saved only by a sharp downward pitch
Accompanied by unsettling weightlessness

Ladies and gentlemen
We have reached our cruising altitude