NIGHT LANDINGS
In easy orbits we learned to land
night fighters by the numbers.
Line up the propeller cone a thousand feet
above the lighted runway， pitch sixty degrees
and hold it， back pressure， back pressure，
a nudge on the rudder to hold the nose up.
Roll out， trusting the darkness，
drop the landing gear and count one thousand one
one thousand two， and turn back to base，
airspeed falling， nose falling in the turn
to final， lights of the runway pulling you home
like a magnetic compass， wings rolling level
as the nose lifts， the tire-streaked runway
dim between the skimming lights， at last
the shudder of wheels scudding along on asphalt.
All by the numbers， easy.
The night I soloed，
red lights rolled flashing into the woods，
searching for Pennington， his third solo， a nice kid
eager for everything. What happened in those seconds
approaching the base we only guessed，
The tower controller reported granting
clearance to land， watching the T-28 approach
and pitch-out steep as it should， but it kept on
rolling in the turn until inverted
I!
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