Mr. Kennedy's advisors said this metal pterodactyl
would fly 1,782 m.p.h. and cross the Atlantic in less than three hours.

Eight years and $1.2 billion later,
environmental and economic swords slew the original SST.

Only one full-scale prototype remained,
engines stalled, gaslines empty, spitshine fading.

This bird of blue and white, with red markings,
Was sold for $31,000 to an aircraft museum in Kissimmee.

The museum, basic hangar of basic gray,
Was in turn sold to the Osceola New Life Assembly Church.

That Sunday morning, the Reverend DeLoach
turned to his Bible and sinning flock.

"I am leaving, but I will come back to you.
If you loved me, you would be glad
That I am going to the Father.
for He is greater than I."

The 288-foot-long SST, perched in the back
bowed solemly, frozen in contriteness.

Its pointed nose touched the floor in humility,
Its body reflected the light from above.

The organist played, the choir sang,
Hosts were sanctified, sins forgiven.

Collection boxes tarried from row to row,
150 metal fold-up chairs squeaked and squawked.

SST sat in deep silence, meditating,
the only unpaying customer.

Yet all those of religious faith are called upon
to make sacrifices, and for SST, this would be no different.

"You will not abandon me
in the world of the dead.
You will not allow your faithful servant
to rot in the grave."

The Reverend spoke of the renovations needed for his House of God.
Suggestions were made, the lot was cast.

SST would be sacrificed.
SST would be the savior.

Sold, or perhaps cut up into thousands of one-inch pieces,
valuable souvenirs of freedom, like chunks of the Berlin Wall.

The congregation agreed. They turned to SST.
Not one word did he whisper, not one compaint did he utter.

"You have shown me the paths
that lead to life,
and your presence
will fill me with joy."

- Bob Miller