Yesterday's poem on the Dutch Meulenhoff calendar, by Gerrit Komrij

THE WORLD UPSIDE-DOWN

In order to collect the doubtful prize

For all the pain she caused that’s gone before,

The holy trinity adopts the guise

Of three air pilots, sticky still with gore.

And Destination Hell’s their aircraft’s mission

“The devil waits with fat cigars and bourbon.”

The airmen’s journey seems an endless prison.

For years the blood-red airscrew whirring’s droned on.

Not far from Saturn, a ring her station,

Combing her hair, they see a raffish belle.

Clearly they display their admiration

But nowhere can they rest. There is no hell.