ODE TO A MISSILE

BY

ZANE MESSER

Bright shiny metal and power galore,

It stands like a giant, eighty feet or more.

But its stature is hidden in a dark deep hole,

And its manned by a crew that lives like a mole.

We can never fly it, we were crazy to buy it.

But till I�m promoted or passed over again

I�m doomed to this place, so are all our men.

But when God forgives our wretched souls,

We�ll leave this hole to the snakes and moles.

We�ll fly away to some far off land,

Where no ones heard of a missile man!

PRESSURE PATCH

BY

ZANE MESSER

With numbers and markings and colors galore,

Just sitting and watching gives me eyesore.

The needles now rising, now falling,
or is it only hallucinations?

My eyes are seeing all kinds of formations.

Oh, woe is me, call me a hearse.

I�m afraid I�ve just let the bulkhead reverse!