Another Poem by May’s Poet of the Month

There’s fog.
Then, there’s people landing planes at all hours.
There’s dogs chasing birds
on runways. And one way those people in those towers
can plan to, and see to, land planes is
the guts to go with the guages.
They heartfelt dealt with data,
Trusted all they’d seen
on their farforeign &; onlyman made monitor screen.
As dogs flushed their fog,
hands hover over lights
and cover their old bets,
their usual action.

By G.R. Melvin