Wings Poem by Joe Fraccalvieri

Why would I trade my arms for wings? ! ...
I'm a man-- just a man-- not a bird that sings.
With arms I could do so many things.
What possible reason would I have for wings?
Can you give me an answer? Can you tell me why…
The only thing I could do with wings is… Fly?

With arms, I could catch. With arms, I could hold.
And at the end of my arms I have a bracelet of charms—
Good as gold-- fingers-- made into fists when they fold!
I could point a finger to blame-- shake a finger to scold--
wave a finger to shame or shape some clay to model-- to mold…
I could wrap my arms around myself, whenever I'm feeling cold.

My arms could make muscles--
to show that I'm strong-- that I'm athletically skilled and bold…
No matter how long-- the use of my arms never gets old
I could create a heap digging deep in the hallowed ground…
I could clap my hands to each other, resounding in sound.

I could cover my face-- wipe my eyes when I cry…
Wave as I say, "hello" or "goodbye".
But all I could do with wings is fly… Fly? ! …
The premise is nice… I'll not deny

I long for a life of leisure... Comfort, pleasure, and ease.
It may sound absurd, from what you just heard…
BUT LET ME BE LIKE THE BIRD
that climbs to the clouds and glides on a breeze!
What's wrong with a life going branch to branch--
living among the trees?

I welcome the chance to take a new stance…
These arms are so tired from working all day. I pray--
lift this burden… Let me laugh… Let me play.
Please… Take these arms that get in my way!

I want to be able to jump up and fly…
To look upon earth from somewhere up high.
Yes… Give me wings… Wings...
Yes, wings-- to plunge through the air--
to tear through the sky! !
Oh please, give me wings to do all these things--
at least, dear God… Let me try