Get-Me-Down Suits

The Wright Lab made ‘em
So you could fly high,
Not burst, not pool blood,
Not black out—come down
And land, no harm done.

Air is thin up there
And too cold for apes.
Long johns, two-piece mesh
Suits on top, cooled air
Low, then warmed air high,

Saved lives. They were snug,
Too snug to walk in
Or wear with no help,
But they made a step
To space and the moon.

Oh, let’s find a trope—
Let’s have some fun, yeh?
Fixed verse, rhymed—leu, clus,
Long chains of set words—
The get-me-down suits

Of bards. You aim high,
Make the task too hard,
Try to climb half way
To the moon and get
Back down with some sense

Left. Look what we did!
Thin-shelled and raw eggs
Of thoughts shot in nets
Float down to the ground
And bounce. No harm done.