Blue Skies Poem by Jon Butter

On the outside,
You can't see what's eating him.
No more treatments are available.
He lives on milky white liquid
Dinner pumped into his body at
84 ccs per hour,
A teaspoon every 3.57 minutes.
No one can say how many
More days, hours, or teaspoons.

I asked him what he wants
To pray for.
His eyes don’t open for
Most of our visit.
He says, “Blue skies.”

He is a pilot.

He flew in the war,
Then for two different commercial
Carriers over thirty-two years.
He averaged 423 passengers a week,
17,766 every twelve months.
He carried a total of 570,627,
He never had an accident.
He gave away plastic wings to
36,311 children.

He is not a religious man.
He has gone to church his whole life.
He believes in the grace of physics
And his God is blue sky.

He almost died in the war.
He was accidentally exposed to a chemical test.
He didn’t read the sign and
Went in to clean the room.
They didn't know why he lived.

His wife died of cancer
Twelve years ago.
He has three children,
Seven grandchildren,
And a new girlfriend.
She has not left him through
Seven months of treatment.
The day he went on hospice
He called all his friends
To see how they were.

“Are you afraid? ” I ask.
“I’m going to fly the plane until it crashes, ” he says.

He does not pray for himself.
He recites poetry.
The one about the surly
Bonds of earth and touching
The face of God.
He wants it read at his memorial
Service in the spring-
When all of his friends are back
From Florida.
He doesn’t want them to
Come back early.

He lies on his back
With his eyes closed,
Listening to my prayer:
That when he dies,
He becomes blue sky.