One Lesson in the Flight Simulator and Icarus Would Rather Have Been Candide

With that mad-man Daedalus as father

I would rather not have been his Icarus.

He’d say, ‘Keep your wings up; keep them up!

Keep your legs stiff;

When you’re into the wind

keep an eye on the waves.’

But I, after just one practice session

should have shrugged them from me, these advisories, these parental admonitions.

Like an ostrich, the visual aspects of practicality

would have dragged them clattering

across that drear bedraggled landscape, past that wet-land interface,

in between the free-sea and the free-sky, and those castles,

those futuristic artifacts my father had actuated.

Well, I don’t care. Down with opinion!

Down with posterity! Mine is the way

wherein a mere glance is quite adequate,

where cultivation of one’s

garden is sufficient unto itself for satisfaction.

And my eyes: My eyes water to a world

he could never have known to have envied.

No! Not for even one of his architectural

masterpieces; nor for the Labyrinthian

complexity of his mind and his machinery.

In this case, father is not son; son is not father.

So now I wait for him to tell me:

We have practiced enough;

the “Real World” out there is waiting.

And I can see his face (when I say)

my answer is final: No; most definitively, no!

Between despair and bewilderment

is an incongruity: a juxtaposition

of expressions: Is it anxiety or relief?

What does it matter?

There’s no genetic predisposition for me to anticipate.

He has not passed “this disease” to his children.