Cold Encounter
By Ewan
Mon, 17 Mar 2008
- 2936 reads
4 comments
As they came past for the third time
I knew that something was up.
It was us – and them: two Sukhoj,
sharp and sleek alongside our
lumbering, dully-painted fuselage;
their cheery, cherry red stars
shaming our miniscule roundel.
They came close, their canting left
a challenge, the exposed belly
a threat, a show of strength
with underslung guided death
on either wing.
I looked out at a space-age helmet
via my 50’s-built window,
through the iron curtain,
as he waved and peeled away
and shook our stately course
with his afterburners on.
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Comments
Ah, but what of the quality
Ah, but what of the quality of the pilot flying the old horse with the small roundel. You probably knew of the guys who had to fly the Berlin Corridor. All good quality men.
Nice poem to us who have some years on our backs and appreciate the meaning.
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I remember watching a
I remember watching a programme about Farenborough, when the Brits were the pioneers in jets and then...the explosion. Risky business, progress.
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