I wrote this poem when Tim took the early out program and left Minot. He was one of the few left who had been at Vandenberg missile training with me in the spring of 1974:
Fall Again at Minot
For Tim McConnell
On fields that wait for winter
no promises remain.
My four years end next May.
I can stay no longer--
this duty wears me away.
Crews are rearranged;
I am sent again to other capsules,
so there is no change.
I live for the time when my tour ends
(a hostage now as your protection).
There are others who know know as I,
as most of you do not,
how lonely a man becomes
buried with these machines.
I know all noises and their meaning;
Never need to look for sources,
as each is too familiar to me now.
Responding to one another with no surprises,
we opposing vibrations
hum and rattle together
without sympathy.
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