Tuesday, April 05, 2022

The Dogfight

One sparklin' Saturday, soft and sighing,
I decided that I would go flying.
So, I launched my Spitfire into the air;
My soul was aloft, without a care.

I saw my girlfriend and her brother, Heinz,
And their matched pair of BF 109s,
Both climbing rapidly, ever higher,
To fly with my solitary Spitfire.

Patty and I often flew together,
Spitfire and Messerschmidt in good weather.
Though Heinz often said he didn't like me,
I didn't think an attack was likely.

Then Heinz pushed his 109 really hard,
Missed clipping my left wing by half a yard,
Then rolled away quick as any I've seen,
To come again at my Supermarine.

I rolled my craft and I dropped for the deck,
Heinz dove and followed, thus courting a wreck,
For Spitfire's famous elliptical wing,
So much like a bird -- it could almost sing.

I broke from my dive mere feet from the ground,
The crash of his plane made an awful sound.
I heard Patty's plane diving from above,
And her scream of vengeance didn't say "love."

Her plane nearly hit me, such was her ire,
So I pushed my small craft ever higher.
As expected, her 109 followed;
The bait was taken, the worm was swallowed.

My Spitfire dropped in a full-power dive,
Her Messerschmidt came, fast as it could strive.
The Spitfire looped, an accomplished fact,
Done before the 109 could react.

My Spitfire's landing gear punched both her wings,
And she couldn't hope to dislodge those things.
So she had to land her disabled dray,
With mine riding it like a bird of prey.

As my model I silently retrieved,
I walked away saddened, and yet relieved.
Heinz yelled at Patty, and she her brother,
In the future, they could fight each other...

Mick McKellar
April 2022

I have no clue why I was dreaming about model airplanes, the Battle of Britain, and faithless girlfriends, but this crazy poem formed in my sleep. I only had to write it out and edit. What fun!