Wherefore Have You Gone, Pretty Airplane?

[Andrew Thornett]

Wherefore Have You Gone, Pretty Airplane?

Heathrow to Dulles – in pursuit of the SARA Eastern Conference at Green Bank Observatory

Narrative rhyming version. I apologise for some of the poor and forced rhymes in this poem - I have tried very hard replacing many passages many times but I have still had difficulty getting it right. But there comes a time qhen an author must just publish and be dawned!

Andrew Thornett.

With Heathrow fading in the morning haze,

As sunlight crowned Atlantic's silver blaze,

I settled back in tranquil, carefree style,

To watch the clouds parade for many a mile.

Their towering cathedrals, bright and white,

Processed solemnly through fields of light.

'Twas then I happened, idly, to survey

The port-side wing that proudly led the way.

A curious omission met my eye—

The engine had departed to the sky!

It was not hanging loose, nor trailing smoke;

It simply wasn't there. A curious joke.

I frowned. Such things, I mused, were seldom done;

Airliners generally carried one.

To gather evidence beyond dispute,

I crossed the aisle with calmness absolute (as any good radio astronomer would do!).

Alas! My confidence received a sting.

There was no engine—and there was no wing!

No graceful span, no polished metal spar,

Just uninterrupted sky extending far.

With dignity surrendering to haste,

I hurried back in something less than grace,

To find my own obedient wing had flown,

As though it had developed plans its own.

Until that point I'd scarcely broken sweat;

But now found ample reason - becoming very wet.

My pulse acquired a lively sort of dance,

As I resolved to risk a backward glance.

The tail had vanished with the rudder too;

No stabilising surfaces were in view.

It seemed some cosmic auditor on high

Was crossing out the aircraft from the sky.

One piece at once, with method most precise,

As though dismantling it would suffice.

Still hoping some reassurance lay ahead,

I looked before me with increasing dread.

No cockpit greeted my enquiring gaze,

No captain wore his calm professional face.

No steward passed with coffee, tea or snack—

Indeed, there was no fuselage to lack.

No cabin.

No aeroplane.

No crew.

Just endless skies of everlasting blue.

About this time I recognised the feel

That every missed stair-step can well reveal:

That hollow lurch which firmly seems to say,

"You're no longer supported, by the way."

I realised then, with beautifully cruel precision,

The true and rather awkward disposition.

The aircraft had not broken, crashed or stalled—

It had simply...

disappeared.

Entirely.

Around me.

Thus I completed, with remarkable composure,

The transatlantic journey through exposure,

Proceeding as a solitary case

Of unaccompanied airborne excess baggage in space.

So should my friends at Green Bank ask of me

Why wind had styled my hair so fancifully,

I'll answer, with a smile both dry and plain,

"United promised me a non-stop flight...

They merely neglected to mention

That the aeroplane itself

Wouldn't remain."