by Stephen Barile
Afternoon shade from the Sycamore trees
Spattered the sidewalk
Along the row of working-class homes.
At 1809 Vagedes Avenue, in Fresno,
The second house from the corner
On the street where Grandma lived,
Behind the fence, clearly visible
In the backyard, a shining tail-fin.
From a hole in the fence:
A Korean War F-86 Sabre Jet.
Two large silver swept-back wings,
A fuselage and cockpit-canopy,
The jet engine sat on saw-horses.
And a man in a mechanic’s cap
At North American Aviation,
In an airport hangar where he worked
As a union aircraft mechanic,
Took the jet apart piece-by-piece,
Carried it out in his lunch pail,
Or by some other means.
And therefore begs the question,
Why would this man keep a fighter jet
Too large to hide in his backyard?
Short answer: so he could work on it.
Long answer: to get back at his wife,
For years of disrespect and humiliation.
No hostilities to be found in the world,
Or in the dull Fresno neighborhood
That required combat aircraft, only
The goings-on in the mechanic’s house.
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Stephen Barile is an award-winning poet from Fresno, California, and a Pushcart Prize nominee. He attended Fresno City College, Fresno Pacific University, and California State University, Fresno. His poems have been anthologized, and published in numerous journals, both print and online. He taught writing at Madera College, and CSU Fresno.
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