The Captain Stands Tall
By Ewan
- 1345 reads
RAF Akrotiri, 1990-something
Our aircraft is banished to a far dispersal,
the take-off aborted, a crash rehearsal.
Cigarettes glow in the high bondu,
the regular drunks they bend and spew.
The Captain, brave captain,
still he stands tall,
as if our landing
was nothing at all.
No fires, no dramas, no smoke from the brakes,
post-landing checks are all that it takes:
Thunder-heads stain the evening sky,
the orders remain, crew-in and fly.
The Captain, brave captain,
he never will fall,
though none will believe him,
his courage is small.
Flight-plans refiled, we contact the tower
we clamber aboard, establish ground power.
The engineer switches fuel pumps on
the chance for a stand-down, finally gone.
The Captain, brave captain,
he answers the call,
is it for something,
or nothing at all?
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