Breadcrumb #337


We all had fun in the balloon ride until it caught fire.
Marty died first, singing Neutral Milk Hotel
as he somersaulted.
His impression wasn't very good (to be honest),
too much quivering in the words;
too much turbulence.

But Marty's a saint!

He cared not to disrupt the cloud's puff
as he capered downward,
so he tucked his feet;
he thought it a sight to see.
But Nancy didn't think it funny.
Maybe she couldn't see.

So she did something outrageous,
Griped about the weather,
said she didn't think hot air balloon rides
literally meant
Trial by fire.
Said she wished for less space between
our cotton ball shooting star
and the dirty ground.
I thought it all ill of her
Bu then Nancy caught fire,
Turned straight up blue.

And now it's just me,
somewhere between
12 and 10 thousand feet.
And I wouldn't mind a drink
with Marty and his baritone,
or with Nancy and her blue hair.
But, alas!
I'm the only one here,
and I must tend to the air,
or leave a bad review on Yelp:
whichever one helps.

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