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Poem	I find it very hard to be fair-minded About people who go around being air-minded. I just can't see any fun In soaring up up up into the sun When the chances are still a fresh cool orchid to a paper geranium That you'll unsoar down down down onto your (to you) invaluable cranium. I know the constant refrain About how safer up in God's trafficless heaven than in an automobile or a train But ... My God, have you ever taken a good look at a strut? Then that one about how you're in Boston before you can say antidis- establishmentarianism So that preferring to take five hours by rail is a pernicious example of antiquarianism. At least when I get on the Boston train I have a good chance of landing in the South Station And not in that part of the daily press which is reserved for victims of aviation. Then, despite the assurance that aeroplanes are terribly comfortable I notice that when you are railroading or automobiling You don't have to take a paper bag along just in case of a funny feeling. It seems to me that no kind of depravity Brings such speedy retribution as ignoring the law of gravity. Therefore nobody could possibly indict me for perjury When I swear that I wish the Wright brothers had gone in for silver fox farming or tree surgery.
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