Monday, March 15, 2010

Pulp Poem of the Week

That's what they really
pay us forthe responsibility,
not for flying the plane.
If they only paid ussay
six or seven thousand a year,
the passengers would lose
confidence in flying, I think.
It's like psychoanalysts.
They charge fifty bucks an hour
so you'll trust them.

Charles Willeford
The Shark-Infested Custard
c. 1975

No comments:

Post a Comment