Bill Newby
Target Practice
Is there any hope?
Will man ever improve?
Up and down each interstate,
in each rest area
and at every wind swept truck stop,
I reflect on our progress.
The cathedrals of Europe,
the Egyptian pyramids,
the Great Wall of China.
Every stone required precision.
Each had to be laid
in an exact spot.
Bands of hunters left their caves
in pale morning light,
and their ability to locate and slice a jugular
separated survivors from has-beens.
In techno-numbed faith
we pack ourselves
into aisle, middle, and window seats,
trusting that our pilot can gently return us
to the center line
of a lengthy runway.
And for generations we’ve practiced,
hour by hour, day by day.
Pouring coffee into a cup,
reaching for a door handle,
squaring a stamp in the top right corner,
putting toothpaste on a brush.
It makes one wonder
why so many men
miss the urinal.
from Passing Through © Bill Newby, 2020
Target Practice
Is there any hope?
Will man ever improve?
Up and down each interstate,
in each rest area
and at every wind swept truck stop,
I reflect on our progress.
The cathedrals of Europe,
the Egyptian pyramids,
the Great Wall of China.
Every stone required precision.
Each had to be laid
in an exact spot.
Bands of hunters left their caves
in pale morning light,
and their ability to locate and slice a jugular
separated survivors from has-beens.
In techno-numbed faith
we pack ourselves
into aisle, middle, and window seats,
trusting that our pilot can gently return us
to the center line
of a lengthy runway.
And for generations we’ve practiced,
hour by hour, day by day.
Pouring coffee into a cup,
reaching for a door handle,
squaring a stamp in the top right corner,
putting toothpaste on a brush.
It makes one wonder
why so many men
miss the urinal.
from Passing Through © Bill Newby, 2020