Meditations on a Grounded RV

[Scott Chastain]

XXVI. On Baffles​

Upon an idle engine

A divider to endow,

In shiny sheets of silver

Borders bracing on the brow,



A royal crown for cooling

On the queen of throbbing thrust,

To guard against a galling

Overheated head to bust;

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Behold! The angled anchors

Latch the leaves upon the case,

And threaded barrels burrowed

From the fins a bolt to chase,



Where rivet reinforcements

Plying plates into a stack

Do veil against vibration

Lest they loosen, creak, or crack;

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Now cut the columns closely

Nesting back behind the fourth,

The frame for hauling heat

From oily oceans to the north,



Where cooler climes do pressure

Past the alleys of exchange,

In foily folds to render

Chilling charges in a range;

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At fore with ramps arising

Near a spool of spinning teeth,

With arms of angle reaching

Toward the tongues that lick beneath,



Where sniffing through a snorkel

From a filter at the floor,

The deep induction servo

Needles nectar to the core;

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Then comes a paint protection

From a rattle can to coat

Against the heat to harden

On an oven rack remote,



To rim at last with rubber

As a pliable appeal,

Inviting air to enter

Curves the crest a cowl to seal.

​

 

[Scott Chastain]

XXVII. On Hoses​

For fluids through fittings to flare,

From galleries pumped to a port,

With pressure to pair

For instrument glare

In measurements made from a snort;

​

From elbows and funnels to route

In rivers of rubber and steel,

With sleeving of doubt

For fire flaming out,

An integral gel to congeal;

​

Arterial oil in the heat

Arriving unheld in a rush,

With channels to cheat

To plow through a pleat

And coming out cool in a gush;

​

A venting of vapors and mist

To move through a mile of a vein,

From crankiness kissed

A can to assist

To bleed from the belly a stain;

​

Transducer in twirly design

Does flick in the flow of a stream,

The leads to align

Supremely supine

What dribbles within to redeem;

​

Hexagonal humps to a cinch

For leakless the line on a pump,

Then torqued to an inch,

The pipes in a pinch,

To strangle the throat of a stump.

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[Estevanb]

Very clean installation! Congrats!

 

[Scott Chastain]

XXVIII. On Startup​

Behold what glory beckons from above

To woo the wingéd captive out her cave,

From dark the dungeon depths of labored love

As born the grounded body from the grave!

With rolling rubber draped in webs of dust,

Where spiders do on spastic reelings run,

There cracks upon a dank and dormant crust

The yearn in yellow streaks of stirring sun;

Now chocked in chilly dew does come the day

When cranked the pistons pump to pressure rise,

To test what silly sensors do allay

A fear from having fallen from the skies;

Anticipation aims an awful hope

Toward Heaven from where gravity does grope!

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