Air and sea show
 
The air is a storm of pitiless steel birds
the terrible beauty of fighter planes
mimicking natural flight formations
with unholy, and thunderous cries
 
Pirouetting and swooping awfully low
ruffling the feathers of real birds
and small children on the beach below
as they cower in stupefied awe
 
At times of an alleged war, on intelligence
There’s no swallowing the bitter taste
of smoke, left by these flying guns -
these decorative killing machines
 
As they elegantly perforate an azure sky
with crude power and overwhelming precision
a frankly obscene display of military might
or the arrogance of shock and aw, shucks
 
What corruption of the freedom of flying
and the democratic innocence of amusement fairs
these screeching pterosaurs, branded blue angels
O, how they blaspheme...