the wrong hands for the R.A.F.

the wrong hands for the R.A.F.

during the festive crush
of the rowdy season,
i got to talking
with a newborn pilot,
who fresh from
heavy correspondence,
talked of jets, of choppers,
and assignments in the blue sky
high above his peers.

halfway through
his lengthy explanations,
and long history of his 21 years,
he stopped abruptly –

‘Those hands would never get you into the air force!’

naturally my hands retaliated,
boasting a brawlers mark,
and a writer’s grace,
though flushing somewhat
with nascent disgrace.
as i explained
a military career
was not something
i ever wished to face.

apologetic,
he worked at altitude,
rising to charge my glass.

leaving me,
the surprised air force failure,
to contemplate
stubby fingers,
and fat hands.