On Falling and Failing

If Icarus were to speak, he'd kvetch
about long hours of labor over feathers
and wax, listening to Father drone on
about the very nature of quills and paraffin
and where wind and birds originated.
The boy would share his dark fantasy
of proving the old windbag wrong—
jumping up and shouting, Ha!,
you don't know everything, Dad!—
and the overwhelming sadness
he felt to harbor such thoughts,
which have been bested in depth only
by knowing the old man was,
in fact, right. The underworld
is a naked bed of information, statistics
sheet the sky—doubt is food for the living.
His famous half-minute of descent
is not as vivid to him as the sight of Father
circling for a final fly-by and shaking
his head.

Copyright © 2006 J. P. Dancing Bear All rights reserved
from Redactions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission