Grease Gun Dogfights Poem by C H Sund

Monotony on a tractor, common,
entertainment always self made.
My weapon upon those fall days:
grease gun, portable and full.
The opponents appeared, winged
feasting on the buffet offerings
of what the plow’s blades churned
Now a grease gun projectile flies,
40 feet, wind aided, of course
and gulls were never timid…so
plop, one launched, the gull moved
plop again… plop, plop, plop!
The gulls having advanced radar…
they really did, never aborted
in spite of heavy grease ack-ack!
They survived and feasted well
and I stayed awake, beating sleep.
But my Dad never knew, although he asked,
why the grease gun was always empty!