Sunday, February 14, 2016

The Good Pilot (poem)

The Good Pilot

The good pilot knows his plane
What it can do, what it can’t
Others might know takeoff power, rate of climb, service ceiling
He knows how to restart an engine that’s freezing
He knows how to crab in a cross wind
Knows how to land it dead stick

The good pilot knows his way round the sky
When to fly under clouds, when to turn back
Others might know albedo, isotherm or wind shear
The clouds he can read, he knows weather by feel
He knows how to navigate storms when they darken
Knows how to fly those dark valleys of heaven

The good pilot knows his route
To the home field today
No need for a chart, no flight plan is filed
He vectors on final, he pilots by heart
The instruction is done, no more touch and go’s
All his flight hours logged, at last returns to his love

At the home field she waits, sees the wheels kiss the ground
Takes in his last taxi and turn, her vigil ends at the gate
Patient during the post flight, magnetos check, engine off
She knows her man, was willing to wait
She opens the door as he flies through
Again they are one, no longer two
The good pilot is home

July 2014 Written in the air, somewhere over America
In memory of my dad, Joe Bohrer, Jr., the good pilot, and my mom, Ann, his love.

My mom passed away in 2006, and my dad in 2014. On the flight returning from my dad's funeral, with my son Nick sitting next to me, I wanted to write a poem for my Dad. As I wrote it, it turned into a love note to both of them.

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