"Sometimes I wish I were still out 

on the back porch, drinking jet fuel   

with the boys, getting louder and louder   

as the empty cans drop out of our paws   

like booster rockets falling back to Earth 

and we soar up into the summer stars.   

Summer. The big sky river rushes overhead,   

bearing asteroids and mist, blind fish   

and old space suits with skeletons inside.   

On Earth, men celebrate their hairiness.''

-- From "Jet,' by Tony Hoagland