O Pibal Where Art Thou?

By Ken Hanson

Such a simple thing really, I’m sure you’ll agree,
This thing called a pibal, so how can it be.

That it has such control over what we will do,
It can spur us to action, or make us feel blue.

Just a latex balloon filled with a gas.
The kind that you buy, not the kind that you pass.

Sometimes it’s black, sometimes it’s white,
Sometimes it even carries a light.

So it’s easy to see by the people below,
Who all want to know if it’s go or no go.

This funny little ball that’s so eager to fly,
Is launched in the air by some black and white guy.

The Zebras we call them, their most vital job,
Is keeping us safe in the gathering mob.

The pibal takes off and it flies away.
Soon we will learn what we’re doing today.

I wonder if it knows looking down on our crowd,
That we will rejoice, or all groan out loud.

Depending of course on the route that it takes,
How fast it will rise, the progress it makes.

We all hope to see it rise straight in the sky,
‘Cause then we will know that today we can fly.

Some days it takes off so low and so fast,
Our worst fears are realized, today’s chance has passed.

Some go back to sleep, others will remain,
For an I Don’t Care party, and pickle their brain.

By passing the good stuff for the whole group to taste,
Even though grounded it won’t go to waste.

On the good days we’ll save it for after the flight,
We’ll toast our adventures in the warm sunlight.

By then our poor pibal will have drifted away,
Not even invited to the party that day.

But we won’t forget you, you gave your OK,
And let us know we could fly safely this day.

But now I must wonder, were you too far away,
To hear what we yelled after your takeoff today?

The prizes are given, but were you too high,
To hear us yell TEQUILA before we go fly!