Poland
Where now baby, in your stunt plane up in our sky. We acrobat into the incredible eventual abyss, upside down with our engine idling, I see your home country above us. Poland. How can it be so beautiful? Like your string wire canvas airplane, it belonged to your father. I bet he’d hate my tattoos...
Speed falling off, your plane drags downwards to an autumn Polish landscape. Arcing my head upwards, I see faint blackened shapes – Soviet and Nazi tanks from old battles. You allow the fall to increase, stick to your fucking cunt. That same cunt condemned me to death; my cock went there. You told your brother and he did a blood feud.
Knifed my cousin dead. I saw it all. I murdered your mother. Hey, don’t fuck with Nick. I’m English and do bloody feuds cool. I’m the best! Reason why your brother gave me a single wish before he kills me. My wish. To aerobat with you dear sister, in your PZL stunt plane. We loop and roll like virgins.
I insist you pretend you’re 21 and not 18. That we only have a half fuel load and no chutes. Your bro won’t fear me sabotaging your delicate dragonfly airplane. Oh no, I worship art and am the poet. I’ll meet your sibling in one on one combat, one arm behind your back.
If he kills me, a straight win, then he can keep my mint condition Fokker D8 warplane. If I win, rendering him a fucking corpse. Well, you’re my wife. And I’ll treat you like a queen...