The Picnic at the Airport 

 
"There is a failure to communicate," said Pierrot. 
"No," replied Bozo.      "Things are as they are." 
"An Argument!      An Argument!" yelled Mailer. 
The three clowns sat on the knoll 
      overlooking the runway. 
They watched the passengers 
      exit the terminal, ascend the steps 
      to their waiting 737s and Airbuses 
      and other bottles of mechanical grace. 
The airplanes taxied to the  
      end of the runway. 
      and, on the wheels and wings 
      of innovation, 
      they drove off for Los Angeles and Chicago, 
      New York and St. Louis, 
      across the vast web of human intercourse. 
As the airplanes lumbered off 
      at almost 150 miles-per-hour 
      on the 200-foot-wide arteries 
      that bound America far better 
      than language or religion, 
      Bozo opened a bottle of cheap champagne. 
      (He said, "Wine Spectator rates it 
       84, not bad.") 
As the cork flew over dry summer grasses, 
      Pierrot exclaimed, "That's it!      That's It! 
      Combustion and gas and propulsion! 
      Into the air!" 
      He swooped a hand into the air. 
      "They should fly!      They can fly!      They do fly!" 
Bozo shook his head and looked at Mailer. 
      "Did you bring his Valium today? 
      Or the Three Stooges mallet? 
      That would suffice." 
"No, alas, I...," said Mailer. 
"Shut up, you two!," replied Pierrot. 
      "Shut up and listen. 
      "You take a bird...." 
"They fly," said Bozo. 
"Of course they fly, you putz." 
"Airplanes don't fly." 
      Bozo was adamant. 
"Shut up and listen. 
      You take a bird." 
"Any bird?" 
"Shut up!"      Pierrot could kill. 
"Sorry." 
"You take a bird.      You fix his wings thus." 
      Pierrot held his arms out to each side. 
      "You attach seltzer cartridges under each wing." 
"It will have to be a big bird." 
"Pierrot stared across the checkered bedspread 
      at Bozo who said, "Okay.      Okay." 
Pierrot continued. 
      "The orifices point back, of course." 
"Of course." 
Bozo might have died right there 
      if Mailer had not picked up 
      the cheese knife Pierrot's fingers 
      groped for in vain. 
 In syllables as rigid as 
      ice, Pierrot said, 
      "You pop the orifices and whoosh!" 
"Whoosh?" 
"Yes, whoosh.      Don't you see?" 
"I see an unhappy bird." 
"Fool!      The bird--it takes off." 
"Of course, it's a bird." 
"But it is not flapping its wings." 
"Then it doesn't take off." 
"Ah, but it does, my visionless friend. 
      "The seltzer gas shoots out 
      and pushes the bird forward 
      and into the air. 
      "Newton says so." 
"Who's Newton? 
      Do I know him?" 
Pierrot buried 
      his face in his hands. 
      "Mailer, call time out quick." 
Mailer, absorbed with the rush 
      of ants over the picnic cloth, 
      yelled, "Time out" and returned 
      to observing the ants. 
Bozo snickered. 
Pierrot looked up. 
Bozo said, "I'm not so dumb, Pierrot." 
"Sometimes...," said Pierrot. 
"Sometimes what?" 
"Never mind," said Pierrot.      "But... 
      do you see?" 
"See what?" asked Bozo. 
"Do you see that it flies?" 
"I see a sad bird," said Bozo. 
      "And an experiment that fails." 
"How so?      How so?" Pierrot almost growled. 
"You want me to believe 
      that planes can fly, 
      through this farce with the bird." 
"But they should." 
"Why should they?" 
"They have wings and jets." 
"And like a bird they should fly?" 
Pierrot nodded, "Yes, yes." 
"Then why don't they fly? 
      Why do they drive over 
      their vast lanes 'cross our country?" 
"I don't know." 
"I can tell you, Pierrot, 
      if you're willing to listen. 
      The jets are for speed, 
      efficient with grace. 
      And their wings, unlike birds, 
      are just arms stretched out wide 
      for balance, my friend, for balance." 
"But they could lift, Bozo, 
      they could lift like a bird." 
"But they never have, have they? 
      Have they, my friend?" 
Pierrot was distraught. 
      The theory was clear; 
      reality was not. 
      "No," he sighs, "No."