asking only workman's wages

"you guys are nuts!" the wuffo shook his head
"to trust your lives to such a wing as that"
and drops his eyes and turns his weary tread
to treat his kid to yogurt (small, non-fat)
well-socialized to never leave the mob
subordinating spirit to the team
identifying wholly with his job
repressing any trace of childhood's dream
perchance, when no one's looking, he'll get high
and think he's put one over on the man
but leaves us to our playground in the sky
still making payments on his minivan
before we gaze our last upon the Light
let's seize the day to live the Dream of Flight