on all four throttles. Sky turns to ground cloud cover.
The stars wink to life in the thinning cotton balls.
Little night time windows. Air speed dial spinning
black white, black white, and the numbers
counting up and up. Up and up. Up and up.
Save time to roll out. Roll. Roll. Roll
wings hard and twanging in the wind
the way sheet metal only does
under stress. Contrails blow in the wake
where air pressure screams.
Toggle fuel. Toggle fuel.
Hear the switch go through the fabric of the glove fingertips.
Vanes and wicked fast spin and
fire blooming red and gold and white and
hydraulics pushing surface to air and up and up.
fire blooming red and gold and white and
hydraulics pushing surface to air and up and up.
Up and up. Back through the ceiling,
punched through like a hammer nose through brick.
"You really need to get a life," tail ends of conversation.
Gear up. Air brakes in. Vertical climb.
New time to altitude record
stays elusive. The books and dials and meters will show.
"I know." Canopy glint in a smile. Afterburners
do not work in outer space. "I will race you
back down."
