Learn To Fly
Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 2:24 pm
Learn To Fly
Climbing slow, a buzz in each ear,
I strained to lip read.
He’d taught Spitfire pilots,
and must have realised I was prime steak.
The ex-world war two pilot spoke with calm,
I smiled sweetly in-between lunges of terror,
gradually relaxing onto the delicate, friendly joystick.
Just level it, with the horizon, steady, you have control.
More he talked, slower I breathed,
over clouds into the sun we droned.
My tongue looser, I quizzed his forties adventures,
we’d tag clouds, he quipped, want to see?
Oh yes please! And daydreaming a moment
I gazed at fluffy pillows a hundred feet below.
I could see it, wheels gently scuffing cloud-tops,
as we numbered each in a Disney movie scene,
with Dick Van Dyke chalking them from a sooty rooftop.
Got to find the right one, he said,
my mind secured its parachute, right one??
He took over the single-engined Grob, there, he pointed,
a handlebar moustache glaze in his pupils,
and I saw a leather flying helmet appear,
halo-like above him.
We careered downward, fast, bloody fast
edging nearer a huge cloud silhouette, and, BLAM.
He tipped the wings vertically, and our aircraft's back,
clung tight to the rain chief, shaving inches
of vapour off it, and my life.
Regaining height after two revolutions,
I handed out free sick looks,
and muttered a few pleading sentences,
containing 'no' and 'more',
before retreating behind lines.
I still have the almost treasured photo, and tax disclaimer,
after landing,
showing a hypnotised ghost
in flying overalls,
holding up a plane.
Climbing slow, a buzz in each ear,
I strained to lip read.
He’d taught Spitfire pilots,
and must have realised I was prime steak.
The ex-world war two pilot spoke with calm,
I smiled sweetly in-between lunges of terror,
gradually relaxing onto the delicate, friendly joystick.
Just level it, with the horizon, steady, you have control.
More he talked, slower I breathed,
over clouds into the sun we droned.
My tongue looser, I quizzed his forties adventures,
we’d tag clouds, he quipped, want to see?
Oh yes please! And daydreaming a moment
I gazed at fluffy pillows a hundred feet below.
I could see it, wheels gently scuffing cloud-tops,
as we numbered each in a Disney movie scene,
with Dick Van Dyke chalking them from a sooty rooftop.
Got to find the right one, he said,
my mind secured its parachute, right one??
He took over the single-engined Grob, there, he pointed,
a handlebar moustache glaze in his pupils,
and I saw a leather flying helmet appear,
halo-like above him.
We careered downward, fast, bloody fast
edging nearer a huge cloud silhouette, and, BLAM.
He tipped the wings vertically, and our aircraft's back,
clung tight to the rain chief, shaving inches
of vapour off it, and my life.
Regaining height after two revolutions,
I handed out free sick looks,
and muttered a few pleading sentences,
containing 'no' and 'more',
before retreating behind lines.
I still have the almost treasured photo, and tax disclaimer,
after landing,
showing a hypnotised ghost
in flying overalls,
holding up a plane.