Poetry, Part Thirty-one

Four of us used to meet for breakfast on Sunday mornings in Roger's BOQ room at the end of the hall on the first floor. The other three flew with the Spittin' Kittens Aerospace Defense Command squadron. They flew the unarmed T-33 target aircraft, simulating Russian bombers attacking the U.S. Larry left the service several years ago and, last I heard, lives in Florida. Roger and I are still friends all these years later. Tom was killed in an F-15 training accident in the early 80's. (Roger always thought Tom was the most gifted pilot he ever knew.)

The following was my way of honoring their service back when we were all in our 20's and life was stretched out before us with all its promises and possibilities.

BTW, Roger used to tell me about this truism when referring to the radar scope in the cockpit: "One peek is worth a dozen sweeps".

T-33--5th Fighter Interceptor Squadron (Target Aircraft)

For Roger, Larry, and Tom: In friendship, admiration, and envy

(What radar fails to sweep)
There!
A gray motion crossing the sky--
A reflection,
crying for all to attack,
in sight and then in scopes.
Locked in the dual vision, as in love,
when we see and then we feel.

In short, slow turns against the sun that shadows,
skill escapes.
Tightly together targets and attackers move,
wise to the way each eludes.
But these missions,
simulations for some effect,
end in no conclusions,
just results.
And targets return in two's.
Above the base, they turn as nearly as one.
I watch them as parallel;
in tandem even as they bank;
almost bound together.
Knowing each pilot grips tightly to this formation,
this joyous discipline to perfection,
just beyond the point of contact.

It is like that with my love,
as in this tension.

Holding firmly in the seconds of eternity
it takes to land, we touch ground.
Never too close to collide,
or crash.

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