Pre-flight checks? I do them and
I do them again, every wire and line,
every bolt and screw. Done. And done.
I leave the fear behind like a pair
of tight kid gloves I toss as I taxi down the grass,
what if, what if, what if—wheels lift,
fields drop, roofs flatten,
and I’m weightless, bare-handed,
engine noise deadens thought.
To twist into the sky, I gun the motor,
nose up, nose up,
then over, over and down, gravity
presses my chest, I dive
and roll, roll again, tease
the crowd, wield wings this way, that way,
I’m low enough for them
to spot my grin
before I land inside a painted circle
in front of the grandstand. Perfect.
Out of the cockpit, dizzy, oxygen-
deprived, half-deaf, I hear ten thousand shout
as if summer thunder rumbled. I’m all adrenaline.
It is not about the trophy or the cash.
My body begs my brain for speed and stunts and sky.