Plane to Sea

My cousin Jack aged four, flew
‘round the backyard,
arms extended gathering speed.
‘Not high enough,’ said he
and jumped from the chook pen
roof; crashlanded; both
wings damaged.
He flew again next day;
it was 1921.

He joined in ’39.
Left wife and babies three
to stand in line with pride
to fly once more.
A Wellington;
to put a spanner in the works of the Axis fleet.
Gunned down, his life hosed into the Mediterranean Sea.