Persona Non Grata

I couldn’t convince them, coz they couldn’t listen
Some to envy, others to inferiority, majority to mediocrity.
“It’s not your call” it’s what they tried to instill in my mind
“You just can’t be” “you messed up” it’s what they believed

The best I could be was a sweeper – yeah runway FOD collector

Only to them. “You dream too much” is all I lived with.
“Dream on dreamer”, “Get married, have a few kids”,
“Wait on your pension & resettlement. . .”
I never gave up. Wasn’t the kind & breed even!
Who really does? But the losers.
In my mind, I had it all planned out. Somehow.
It dint matter how long it would take,
It dint matter how much it would cost.
I just had to do it before I expired.
Prayer, faith, resilience, and Etc. . . .
I happened to break through.
A year of class, sacrifice, enemies, uncountable punishments
I got my Licenses,
The applications soon went out. A lot!
Then the offers started streaming in.
The purpose I had believed in.
As much as I loooooved sweeping the runways,
My purpose was to land on them. Use them!
I resigned!
They thought I was joking,
Too stupid to quit, at my age.
But I wasn’t. I was for real.
I had fought enough wars
Had gathered enough spot tattoos,
To play story illustrations for my grand children.
With a handful of well-wishers,
And hundreds who were convinced I would regret.
I was well on my way.
I paid, yeah as per!!!
A month in close arrest

A fortnight in maximum security.

A week later,
A 3 x 5 colored close up
Of the latest persona non grata details included
Pasted on all the major boards & faxed to all the establishments
Never to set foot again
Yeah foot I won’t but I will always do fly bys.
Restricted airspaces or not,
That I can bet. To keep reminding them,
That is Brian up there,
Who you couldn’t just drain & lock up his mind.
But then. . .

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