Airplane

Airplanes are winged passenger-vehicles that are modern marvels like falcons that are as big as a white van. They have a propeller in the front, and a fin on the back. They are awesome. They are intense. They are rip-roaring and rocking. They are long and cylindrical. They are awesome to smoke weed in. They are nice. One of them is circling high above the trees — I wonder if it will ever land. It is flying around like Father Christmas over our city, hovering suspiciously. “Airplane,” we all sing as one, “you have pretty wings like a dove.” Now the airplane finishes preening its feathers and then releases an ovoid object. “Airplane,” we sing, “don’t leave now: your egg is falling.”