Six Brave Men Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

JUMP! ! ! !
We were actually,
-No Shit-
going to do it.
Six of us,
trained
on a tower.
Above the clouds,
in a Focker,
modified but noisy.
Fear was palpable.

Maiden?
Virgin?
Inaugural? .
It mattered little
what name you chose, it was
and remained to be
our first jump.
SOLO.

If you normally take laxatives or
other expeditors
you owe yourself
the experience.
It's hair-raising
and very loose.

Packed our own shutes.
Chewing gum
with a vengeance,
for
ear-popping prevention.

'Sergeant....I don't think..',
feeble coward,
what a disappointment
I am.
Was that liquid
or just from the pinto beans?

'No, I won't' is beginning
to take hold.
SHIT is the word that is
closest to becoming
widely accepted here.
In its human origin,
by all concerned.

'Yes, sarge, just
give me a minute...',
you say with him
standing behind you,
so reassuring, so smooth.

'tell me about
how you packed it',
he teases me
and distracts my
alert little Amygdala.
And then....................
he pushes me out the door.
Unceremoniously,
quick and hard.

It opens after some hours
and the pants stay clean.
And, when you land
there is just one question to ask:
WHY?