The Red Head

The bombadier seat of a trainer aircraft presents itself to me on a rainy day. Given tours of these wonderful machines I suppose. A man in a business suit goes up a couple of extra steps to the pilot's seat. In the bombadier cockpit there's a mini T.V. screen and two poles to direct the bombs with gentile taps to go off in different directions. Semi-smart bombs. Another little screen can be made to look out the front, through the use of tiny cameras--however, it is lit up only with a rudimentary blue and white doplar radar screen. A storm is coming.

A column of rainclouds travels up to me from the south, and I hear rumors of my friend's presence, on the automobile highway, amid the blowing grass and occasional blip of rain. His house in the mountains is beautiful and I don't want to get too attached. A redhead asks me about fliers that I'd been passing out for the military in hopes of getting drafted into the elite air-force. The China conflict is coming and there is less than a wing of F-22's. What a beautiful girl, what a beautiful storm--she asks me like the wind, "do you think it will work this time?" as she sits above me. No words.