Sonnet for a B-17.
Sonnet for a B-17
The B-17 takes a hit in its third engine,
the propeller of which begins irrationally windmilling.
No nearby airstrip, and "too goddamn dark
to see the stars," the pilot jokes. He manages
to stay aloft for a couple of hundred miles,
losing altitude all the while, of course.
He reaches the Warsaw city park and crash
lands, taking out trees and shrubs. On all sides
young Polish soldiers materialize, rifles
aimed and cocked. Not one of the kids speaks English.
Just then, a Russian officer rides up
in a jeep and tells the boys to put down their rifles.
No one is hurt.
This is the kind of war story we like.