By Andrew Ulanowski
I’ve sometimes wondered
how long you would fall
if you were to fall
into the Grand Canyon . . .
I suppose you could use some measurement,
some formula that has you hurtling through the air
at ‘X’ miles per hour until you hit ‘terminal velocity’,
or the canyon floor.
Fitting phrase that, ‘terminal velocity’ . . .
I wonder how long it takes
for you to mess your pants up
on the way down.
I bet Wiley Coyote knows.
How humiliating it would be
to get beaten to death
by your backpack filled
with life-sustaining water
and granola bars
just before you make your mark in the world.
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Scribd.com/Raul Aqua
Submit poems of your own at Scribd.com.
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