Clouds of Glory, by Edward Miller

457th Bomb Group photo, public domain (UK) 1945

Clouds of Glory
 
Papa was a rolling stone.
Papa was a bowling ball.
Papa was a Hallmark card.
Papa was a pocket slide-rule.
 
Papa was a pluggerdoodle.
Papa was a binkus.
Papa was a schnulli.
 
Papa was the smell of napalm in the morning.
 
Papa was the odor of formaldehyde 
rising from the mortician’s open door 
at night.
 
Papa was a Kool Aid flavor, Man-o-Mangoberry,
with a twist.
 
Papa was the Cookie Monster.
 
Papa was an unsacked bottle of port wine, 
passed hand to hand, in an alley 
behind Fifth and Western.
 
Papa was the beleaguered Ricci in Vittorio de Sica’s 
1948 Italian neorealist masterpiece 
The Bicycle Thief.
 
Papa was the inimitable Nervous Norvus 
before “Transfusion” fame ruined him 
and drove him into seclusion 
in the Hollywood Hills.
 
Papa was the original Nervous Nelly 
before a fusillade of anti-aircraft fire 
ripped through his B-17 Flying Fortress 
on January 27, 1943, on a bombing run 
over the submarine yards in Wilhelmshaven, Germany, 
and parts of the waist gunner were splattered 
across the hatch of Papa’s ball turret, 
and the catwalk was slickened with blood, 
and the babyfaced pilot judged the mission a bust, 
and dropped the plane out of formation, and turned, 
and limped back to England on one engine, 
and crash-landed there, in a cornfield, 
events which would imbue Papa 
with a disquieting composure 
that would remain with him 
the rest of his life.
 
Papa was a chainsmoker, naturally.
 
Papa was not for sale.
Papa was not for resale.
Papa was not to be removed 
under penalty of law.
 
Papa was not for everybody. Or maybe he was.
 
Papa was a rolling stone. 
 
Edward Miller
 
Edward Miller teaches writing at Madera Community College. Included among his areas of interest are outsider art, street photography, and the American vernacular.