_I’m just a little scared_, he says,
This boy sitting to my right,
Feet dangling, knuckles pale,
Staring not at the storm, but me.
The understatement of the century.
I should say something, anything,
But my tongue is just another failing instrument,
And my mind is busy, calculating distance,
Between fear and freefall.
_My Dad once flew_, he continues,
_His plane went down, and so did he._
I swal...