Ol' John returned, Coasting down the air currents In his new fangled space glider: "But I thought he drops down In a capsule with a parachute ..." Mom said. "No, no that was long ago ... Its better now. "Next time, you see 'em Glide down -- all the way from Mars With their red rocks and Martian biomes -- "Maybe it'll be our son ... Maybe this Ol' John will go with him ..." Dad said.
©1998, John A. Mills
Published in My First ...; Poetry Today; Suzy Walton, ed ©2001; p. 149.