Member Rara Avis
The root beer glass sits on a checkered tablecloth in a french café.
Head foaming over the glass, little spills down the side.
But where's the flying ace in his helmet and goggles, scarf wound tight?
He's out in the wet murk yelling into the sky
Before he comes back inside where it's warm and dry.
The red baron, oh the red baron must be taken down!
He pounds the table with his paw, upsetting the root beer
Which fizzes close to his left drooping ear.
He takes a quaff and thinks of when he'll go home.
But first the red baron must be taken down!
His sopwith camel is down in the airfield,
Burned and shot, miles from this small café.
Soon he will head back out into the storm.
Thread his way past trees, over hills, across rivers
Wild, swollen to the banks with water.
He'll wonder when his next supper will come,
About the color of his dish back home.
Yes, the red baron must be taken down!
He finishes the root beer, pounds the empty glass
Against the table, ordering another in this way.
A waitress with glasses, straight hair, approaches
And says 'Please stop all the pounding, sir."
She passes him a new glass from her tray full of brown sweet!
He asks her her name, then says "Merci, Marcie."
Soon this glass is emptied, too, and a third and a fourth follow suit.
He thinks briefly of his friends back home:
The round-headed kid who always feeds him.
That nut with the blanket, that crabby girl
Who always yells when he pats birds on the head.
She could use some psychiatric help herself, he ruminates.
But that world is so many thousands of miles away.
Curse you, red baron! he shouts. Curse you for the
pain and misery you caused us all on this day
When we should be dancing in the rain!
Curse you! May your props fail and your throttle stick!
May you crash into a hillside quick!
May you! --
Marcie approaches the table, patrons staring,
A burly restaurant manager glaring.
He sees the situation, kisses her hand,
Leaves a tip and leaves out the door.
Back through the rain, the flying ace wonders
When he'll be back home. But that's for a while yet.
He has a job to do, and knows it.
(Charles Schulz, we miss you)