Vegas and Environs

Dear Missus,

In the distance,

Vegas grows hydroponic

from white grit.

As an honorary daughter

of the Black Aircraft,

I’ve seen true alien skulls,

hypersonic vehicles,

bat crashing into

squadrons,  the secret

flying machines

Sabre & Penetrator.

Dazzled by Sinatra

syncopated fountains,

Sammy Davis Jr.

afterhours at the Sands,

Moldovian trapeze artists.

(The Communists taught

contortion while America

coined its military missions

Tortuga, Diamonda,

Dauphin & Baseball ).

Missus, in response

to your questions,

pleadings, let there be

no proceedings.

I was summoned

by the universe

to hover angelic

over history instead

of hoovering your carpet.

There is an infinite disorder

which takes precedence

over washing the collards

or buttering your toast.

I shall be gone

for some time, Miss B.

I trust that you will iron

out your own hypotheses.

Signed,

Mephista

P.S.

Expense Report:

The whole escapade

took seven tanks

of gas, a thermos

of Margaritas,

& five sandwiches of cheese.