Love Letter to Ellison Onizuka (1986)

Shoji, your middle name, means Heal, Peace, Proper, Happiness.
My forward separation rocket, primary and three principal parachutes fail you.

Everybody so rushed to propel North, nobody recalls South Yemen Civil War beginning.
I cannot speak of solid rocket booster. My factory and field joints and reusable outer casing

fail you. You once ask Christa McAuliffe who she is, as a joke.
My flotation systems and electronics and pyrotechnic ignitor fail you.

You stub out lit cigarettes left behind by reckless Boy Scouts of America.
My propellant, hydrogen, elevons, and my aft skirt fail you.

You should ride an aluminum canoe off Multnomah Falls instead of me.
My insulation, antivortex siphon, and rear separation fail you.

You watch a hawthorn leaf glide, like it better than my ass. My vertical tail fails you.
You impersonate every actor in St. Elmo’s Fire but Mare Winningham.

You almost have Mare too. My body flap, orbiter, orbital maneuvering, air brakes, rudder,
nose reaction control fail you. Companies make toys of me and I cannot break

the ozone layer. My star tracker, cargo bay doors, and crew access hatch fail you.
You listen to Tears for Fears through earmuffs built around headphones.

My payload, delta wing, remote manipulator, safety valve for liquid oxygen tank fail you.
Satellite Echo 2 burned back to earth on June 7th, 1969, but you were getting married.