The Ballad of the Blown Proposal

When proposing marriage to your mate, it's best to do so in a safe place.

The Ballad of the Blown Proposal

Canto I: The Ascent of Dread
Above the clouds, where air grew thin and chill,
Sat Emmitt, planning with a fragile will.
Ten years had passed since he and Jessica met,
Ten years of dinners and avoiding debt,

And nine long years she'd waited for a ring,
A future promise that the bells would bring.
But Emmitt was a man of measured pace;
He wanted proof, just in case, in case.

He needed certainty, a signed decree.
That she was truly, deeply fond of he.
Today was the anniversary--ten years high--
And they were strapped to jump out of the sky.

Jessica, beside him, looked quite grim;
Her patience long ago had reached the brim.
She held a brochure, crisp, thick, and white--
"The Carmelite Convent: Serenity and Light."

She tapped the cover with a weary sigh;
"The Mother Superior is booked for July."
Emmitt gulped. The threat was crystal clear.
He leaned closely, attempting to hold near.

The crumpled parchment where his verse was stored.
(It was a fifty-line poem, carefully scored.)
The jump instructor bellowed, "Gear is checked!
Prepare to drop! We've reached the point select!"

The little door slid open, loud, and fast,
Releasing gusts of air that swiftly passed.
Emmitt thought: It's now or never, dear Miss Jess!
He pulled the ring box from his bulging vest.

Canto II: Attempt The First -- The Windy Overture
He braced himself against the howling gale,
And started reading, earnest, slightly pale:
"Oh, Jessica, my rock, my sturdy base,
I wish to ask you, in this airy place--"

(He had to shout against the engine's shriek,
The noise made poetry incredibly weak.)
"After ten years, I must know how you feel!
Is this connection truly real?

Do you possess within your waiting heart,
A joy that keeps us never far apart?"
He paused for breath, a crucial, fateful lapse,
And wind, that cruelest of poetic traps,

Ripped the wet paper from his trembling hold.
The fifty stanzas, measured, deep, and old,
Flew out the hatch, a fluttery white mess,
A proposal swallowed by the wilderness.

And worse--the diamond ring, which he had clutched.
While trying out the stanzas he had touched,
Slipped from his grip, a comet bright and grand,
And whizzed away from Emmitt's sweaty hand.

It struck the plane's propeller with a THWACK!
And broke the engine cover on the back.
(The pilot swore and gripped the steering wheel,
"That blasted turbulence! Too rough to reel!")

The instructor shoved them toward the edge,
"No time for poems on this lofty ledge!
Just jump, you two! Go, celebrate your date!"
Emmitt went first, sealed by the hands of Fate.

Canto III: Attempt The Second -- The Mid-Air Meter
They fell like stones, ten thousand feet to drop,
Emmitt is still reeling from the metallic POP.
Jessica screamed--a sound of sheer delight--
While Emmitt tumbled, fighting with the light.

He had to speak! Before he hit the ground!
He searched for words, a suitable, quick sound.
He tried a novel approach, more streamlined, tart,
A poem written purely from the heart:

"My darling Jess! Though chaos reigns supreme!
You are the subject of my waking dream!
Our partnership, now entering year eleven,
Is evidence that we are blessed by heaven!"

"I've waited long to know your full intent!
Please tell me now, before my neck is bent!
Do you feel sure? Is doubt completely crushed?
I need to know before the air is hushed!"

Jessica, enjoying the free-fall speed,
Gave him a thumbs-up (she could barely heed
His shouting phrases through the wind's sheer force).
Emmitt took this as an affirmative course.

"Then marry me!" he cried, with all his might.
"And be my wife beneath the sun and light!"
But as he finished, grandly, with a plea,
His right hand searched for his vicinity.

He grabbed a toggle, not his ripcord bright,
But Jessica's chute, which bloomed in sudden might!
She stopped abruptly, hanging in the air,
A startled pigeon caught in mid-despair.

Emmitt kept plunging, passing her with zeal,
His voice still echoing the word "I feel!"
She dangled forty feet above his head,
Her harness squeaking, "Could you have instead

Just waited five more seconds for the drop?
Or do you always make proposals flop?"

Canto IV: The Landing and The Lasting Vow
Emmitt finally pulled his own release;
They drifted down toward fields of golden fleece.

He landed hard beside a prickly hedge,
Near where a bored cow chewed upon the edge.
He stumbled up, though dizzy and quite sore,
And spotted Jessica, who touched the floor.

A hundred yards away, by a large puddle.
He ran toward her, breaking through the muddle,
His hair askew, his face smeared brown with grime,
He felt that he had truly run out of time.

She stood there, calm, surveying his defeat,
While scraping mud from off her leather boot sole neat.
Emmitt knelt down, defeated, and quite spent,
His final, desperate, third attempt.

He stared into her cold, unwavering eyes,
No hidden gems or flowery disguise.
He whispered low, his voice a broken thing,
The shortest proposal poetry could bring:

"Nine years I waited, just to be quite clear,
Now I have failed beneath the atmosphere.
If you say 'Yes,' I promise I will stop.
All future poems that involve a drop."

Jessica sighed and smoothed her wrinkled clothes.
She looked toward the sky, then pointed her nose.
The charred spot upon the distant plane.
"Emmitt," she said, "This constant, awful strain.

Waiting for you to declare your state
Has left me utterly resigned to fate.
My second choice requires I wear a hood,
Which, frankly, Emmitt doesn't suit my mood.

"So yes, I'll marry you, despite the fact,
That every single move you make is racked
With terror, caution, and poetic flight.
But next time, ask me on the couch at night."

She took his hand--the one that held no ring--
"Now let's go home before the Convent ding-
Dongs are calling me to a life of solemn prayer.
I'd rather marry you, sir, than cut my hair."