Perspective From 32,000 Feet by Debra Webb Roberts

Drawing conclusions….
like drawing the blinds mid-day,
the sky too bright for clarity 
and other wise
shrouded by mood

I remember a song
from childhood : you know
one of those pop culture
silly happy joyjoy oft’ mindless
tunes we were compelled to perform —

when Camelot died
and a new king raised his head –
until society fell, mortally wounded

LBJ-isms, cloaked and pointed,
never so clear as black and white,
this melting pot reaching a boiling point,
lids blow, stammering, “kkkkkkkk”

and our poor scared parents
needing some metered assurances
that wars and death would not
always attend our frail journeys

that moon shot, as glorious
as Neal made it seem, was
No Place Like Home

Four score and more,
the decades fly, fall
into resistant pools
bruised and bloodied
and blessed

I’ve looked at clouds
from two sides,
theorize:

All is transitory,
Everything born from the
gray

from 32000 feet

(c) Debra Roberts 07282017*clouds at 32,000 feet , taken from my airplane window, leaving Denver

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