Airshow
A sleek fighter climbs and dives
in mock attacks, slamming the awestruck
crowd with the sledgehammer
of its booming metallic roar.
On the tarmac, a dull, dented
A-10 Warthog clamps shark’s teeth
on a fat black gun barrel
jutting like a lewd cigar.
The tall pilot in sunglasses
and flight suit stands next to his jet.
I tell him I’d be terrified
if that fighter were after me.
He flew in Afghanistan.
“When I got someone,”
he says with a thin smile,
“they didn’t hear a thing.”