Ode to Black Air Forces
Praise to the obsidian sole, which kisses the glass-
coated asphalt before becoming airborne. Praise
to the black tongue, camouflaged, yet still
flashing a warning of give no shit. Praise to the
magic of ones turned two-piece, left and right
feet a pair of wingmen to all that is fair in love.
Original uniform of the fighter, multi-mission,
robbin’ hoodies from designer shops to redistribute
wealth. Praise to the weave of your vamp poised
to catch flight into ribs at night, at noon,
whenever. Praise to the aight whatever,
aight bet, spoken wordlessly via emblem,
prophecy of manual dexterity, long rumored
tale of ten toes down come true. Praise to
your run through rap charts, Nelly who sang
of your stomp and survival, to 1982
the year of your birth, your absorption of
pressure waves from apartheid bombings,
Tough, by Kurtis Blow rerouted into
the democratization of dark energy. Ode to
your essence making up 73% of the cosmos,
the power of 310 Angola aircraft in a single heel,
to each uptown caressing a possible president,
to a force beyond force = mass x acceleration.
Fast lil ma working behind the cash register.
On the way home she passes home.
Ode to what you gave her, what you give her,
wherever she’s going.
Copyright © 2023 by Bryan Byrdlong. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 14, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.