Cutting Air

July 11, 2010
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The supersonic shock wave booms the still air
My body being stretched by G-force
I see another plane’s flare
My hands turning the wheel and the plane changes course
Slices through the calm air like a knife
The radio crackles and squawks
As each plane approaches the other, igniting strife
I shoot at the plane a squall
Of bullets raining down on the wings
The other plane cuts through the clouds
And attacks my blind side, bullets singing
As they dice the air, attacking my plane, once proud,
Now a tattled and tired piece of metal
Before it is towed away, I put in its cockpit a medal

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