Awkwardly, stubbornly, you take your flight
and blotch the sky with your image.
Hungrily you roar a defiance
at more accessible lands,
a defense of space
fought in futile scrambled timing.
You eat the clouds,
poisoning the rain they keep
so they dump on us a dead apologetic storm.
Will farmers look on fields of bleached weeds
as science searches new forms of food? —
and will cities branch out farther
in frantic nesting to avoid your thunder? —
and will beaches no longer sing
as ozone protection becomes a myth
and one in four carries oozing sores?
Ah! But what we have gained
by allowing you places to settle . . .
One uncomfortable diplomatic gesture
never put to vote
has quieted the discord for a sigh
and we live another nightmare.
With weeping eyes and choking breath
and with unceasing admiration for wings
we hear you first through palm-cupped ears,
then see you scamper across the dome.
Nursing remaining health
some will ignore your birth —
others will save the thousands
necessary for your tempting luxury moment spree.
But I curse with useless disdain
the smiling Concorde.
MLydiaM ~ 1977
Written over three decades ago — in all seriousness then, I might add! — I am submitting this old poem for Critique and Craft—Machine Dreams at dVerse Poets. Thank you to Chazinator for the wildly fun prompt. Although my youthful loathing of the Concorde mellowed some with time, I always did think it was a
To refresh your memory about the Concorde, see Wikipedia and numerous other sites. Here are key stats from Wikipedia:
Role Supersonic airliner
First flight 2 March 1969
Introduction 21 January 1976
Retired 26 November 2003
Status Retired from service