Tattoo You

One of the things that /
          freaks me out about this place /

the planes

no, no little Fantasy Island
vertically-challenged
hormone-deficient
subservient
Tattoo

frothing on the
beachfront

but

THE PLANES! THE PLANES!

It's a
      small airport

with a
      fucking long runway

ideally sited &
suited to service
the military training area
      a few kilometres away

& in the
      night
or the
      early morning

every
      so often

the little propellered
commuter craft
are replaced by

THE PLANES! THE PLANES!

First
the chartered C5 Galaxy
—Capacity: 36 fully-loaded 463L-type cargo pallets (88" x 108" @ 10,000 pound (4,536kg) capacity); 270 passengers in the air-bus configuration*; six transcontinental buses; two M1-A1 Abrams main battle tanks; seven UH-1 Huey helicopters; one U.S. Army 74-ton mobile scissors bridge. (A combination of pallets and wheeled vehicles can be carried together when required.)—

that unloads tanks
in the middle of
the night & manages
to shake & wake an
entire city
& does it again
twenty-four hours later
on its way out

& then
the army

five jumbo jetfulls
in & out at
five minute intervals

& then
at an un-
specified when

the
fighter jets will come screaming
down the valley

& I will shit myself
with conspiracy paranoia