Gravity

Sad and depressed, we leapt to be free,

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Escaping a smothering sense of ennui.

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Over and down, now one hundred feet;

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Three hundred pounds of free-falling meat.

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Not as much time to think as I’d thought;

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Now two hundred feet at three seconds naught.

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Faster and faster, we cover the distance

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

In spite of the air’s increasing resistance.

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Five seconds now, and three hundred feet,

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

Now I see clearly each crack in the street.

(Thirty-two feet per second per second)

 

H’m. Owing to the Earth’s superior mass, the electron shells of the atoms below are going to repel the electron shells of our own atoms, thus impeding our progress.

 

That’s gonna hurt.

About Michael Butchin

I was born, according to the official records, in the Year of the Ram, under the Element of Fire, when Johnson ruled the land with a heavy heart; in the Cradle of Liberty, to a family of bohemians. I studied Chinese language and literature at Rutgers University, New Brunswick. I spent some years in Taiwan teaching kindergarten during the day, and ESOL during the evenings. I currently work as a faceless drone in a corporate call center, and am an unlikely martial artist. I have spent much of my life amongst actors, singers, movie stars, beautiful cultists, Taoist immortals, renegade monks, and at least one martial arts tzaddik. I currently reside in my dead grandparents’ house, alone, with an impressive collection of martial arts weapons, where I practice and train daily. I am not currently on any medications.
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