Navy Field

Limped out of the hot sky a hurt plane, Held off, held off, whirring pretty pigeon, Hit then and scuttled to a crooked stop. The stranger pilot who emerged—this was the seashore, War came suddenly here—talked to the still mechanics Who nodded gravely. Flak had done it, he said, From an enemy ship attacked. They wheeled it with love Into the dark hangar’s mouth and tended it. Coffee and cake for the pilot then who sat alone In the restaurant, reading the numbered sheets That tell about weather. After, toward dusk, Mended the stranger plane went back to the sky. His curly-headed picture, and mother’s and medal’s pictures Were all we knew of him after he rose again, Those few electric jewels against the moth and whining sky.