Written by Carolyn Lengel
Photo: © Depositphotos.com/jorgophotograph

I.
So he’s got cash and I’ve got drinks to sell.
He buys a round. He says he owns a plane,
And everybody acts impressed as hell,
But I just look at him like he’s insane,
Like I don’t care. And hey, why should I care,
Since as a tipper he is sub-sub-par?
He’s got a plane. Big whoop. And is it fair
To talk of planes to me, who’s got no car?
I pour domestic liquor in a glass
And back it up with cheap domestic beer.
I smirk and say with just a hint of sass,
A pilot? You’re a real high flyer. Here,
This fireball shot will bring you to your knees.
It’s spiked with cinnamon and antifreeze.

II.
The county fair is sometimes worth a trip,
And this year there’s an airshow. So I go.
And there’s the pilot guy who doesn’t tip!
He flies an antique biplane. Does he know
That workers in the service industry
Need tips to supplement a meager wage?
And does he care? It seems he doesn’t. He
Climbs in his plane (his plane!), taps on a gauge,
And roars into the air. The sun is blinding.
He loop-de-loops and swoops to buzz the stands,
And then his showoff spiral starts unwinding
And down he goes, as gravity demands.
We watch-don’t-watch the little airplane fall
And turn into a giant fireball.

III.
I knew a pilot once. He died, I say,
And there’s a hint of sorrow in my eye.
The jukebox oh so softly starts to play:
It’s Norman Greenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky.
My customers respectfully fall quiet,
Imagining the pain I must be feeling,
And would I like a drink? They’ll gladly buy it
I nod and sigh and stare up at the ceiling.
The drinkers come to buoy me up with pity,
A girl in flyboy gear who works the bar,
Whose secret sadness makes her extra-pretty,
Whose piles of tips are buying her a car.
The jukebox picks another 45.
Great Balls of Fire! It’s great to be alive.

 

***

Carolyn Lengel used to be a bartender, but she isn’t anymore. Her infrequently updated haiku blog can be found at http://toughhaiku.blogspot.com/. She likes parameters.