Jet Suction Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A fly, the runt of his small litter
had suffered much and was quite bitter.
His wings substandard and his legs
were stiff and scrawny like clothes pegs.

He flew, to practise this great art,
was known to let a roaring fart
out over town, to entertain
the humans in their own domain.

He'd learned, of course, about the spiders
and those six-legged blue-green gliders.
Thus, all in all, he was quite clever
a trait he would cling to forever,

no net would catch him, no one could
make headway into what they would
name lack of talent unbecoming
an insect known to stoop to humming.

Yet, when the jet approached at speed
with its own supersonic need
there was a suction which supplied
the oxygen for their fast ride.
This suction pulled the little fly
into the kerosene. GoodBye.