Look to the sun, boys, for that’s where he’ll be,
Eyes through a target, your tail he will see.
Soaring high on the wing and ready to fall.
And come roaring to kill you, a nemesis’ call.
Finger on trigger, a squeeze will let loose,
A most lethal swarm seeking your neck in a noose.
Twist, turn and slip, kick your rudder over hard,
Dive down to the clouds boys, or he’ll mark your card.
Deep in the gloom, breath returns as hearts simmer,
Goggles are wiped and resolve becomes grimmer.
Where is that Ace, that most hated of men?
Lurking and waiting for his one score and ten.
For that is the number of kills to his credit,
All taken in dogfights; a skill that has merit.
If only the scores were the other way round,
And it was his tail that shattered, his burial mound.
Out of the cover, engines gunned to their stops,
Snarling and eager, victims get ready to pop,
A thousand rounds quickly, into red linen and wood,
To shred a devil in the wind, if only he could.
Be found in the air, yet the canvas is clean,
No sign of the killer, as if all in a dream.
Quickly resuming their sweep of the skies,
Watching, and waiting, sensing fateful goodbye.
Then out of the sun, The Ace comes barrelling down,
Bullets passing unseen through blades, spinning round.
The stink of the trenches, criss-crossing below,
Has no power up here, where the fresh breeze does blow.
Break left and right boys, don’t bunch up or huddle,
This monster is craving your blood soon to puddle.
So the battle is joined as machines twist and weave,
And many a soul from its body takes leave.
This is the first Bakers' Dozen collection. The poems cover a wide range of subjects and are written for an adult audience. All poems are original compositions and subject to copyright.