V

An old weathered spitfire pilot veteran

stares straight into the lens,

grim mouthed, watering eyes

almost absent-mindedly recounting

those bloody awful days.

‘We prayed for bad weather, for clouds,

we knew that if the sun shone

they would surely come again’.

Command estimates one-fifty

bombers and support

just off Dungeness.

‘When we got there

there they were, so fucking many of them

like flies, swarming

and my first thought was

where do I start?

Cue survival statistics voiceover

‘I had a little prayer

that I repeated over and over

as I raced into their middle

300mph

short, three second bursts

of the cannon

just hoping to hit something.

It didn’t matter who made the kills

we never kept scores

we just had to stop them’.

Staring into the lens, pensive,

watery eyes now running

grim mouth tightening.

*

© Graham Sherwood 05/2020