Cora's Clothesline

What softness in silence amidst the cacophony of a spin cycle world war. Lying next to your glow in sleep's stillness, careful of your bandaged hand. Watching your breath enter and leave, the rise and fall of such loveliness., reminded of our miracle wings as they unfolded in the evening heat. Was it only yesterday..,I walked the River road to find the station on Market street. Only to trip on newsprint from the war drive, that smile so alive, when I tried to doff my cap. I can still smell the Mercurochrome, as I winced at my torn khaki covered knee.., washed and mended by such tender .30 caliber case casting hands. Sleek Stearman mistress soars, airborne rudder and ailerons trimmed and steady.. in mind-bending dizzying free fall and effortless flight., though may just try to kill an unwary cadet, who fell deep in Cora's eyes... I don't know how to leave your side, much less find the words to say good-bye. And when the war is over, I'll call on you proper... when the skies are cleared of Jerry's buzzing crates. My squadron mates call and beckon me..to climb aboard the train., for there's a war to fight and win. When I return we'll take Fee Fee Church road to the Delmar loop trolley, and stroll the path along Creve Coeur Lake under the Summer sun. Singing hearts will soar while Sons in Service flags flutter in distant windows, and must remember that painted pot of peonies for your mother's grave. Patched khaki trousers sway softly now.., next to Lady Pepperell floral sheets, and blue cotton bib overalls, worn on second shift at the Ordnance Plant. I wondered if you caught my glance.., the blue corselette and matching bra.. in Summer's sighing clothesline, unashamed among the stars. And when the war is over, I'll call on you proper.. when the skies are cleared of Jerry's buzzing crates. But the squadron calls and beckons me.., climb aboard the train.., for there's a war to fight and win. We'll jump and jive to the jitterbug and boogie woogie to the Bugle Boy of Company B.. Glen Miller will bring the big band Serenade, while Count Basie keeps rhythm and time. Will you try on my cap, or better still my wedding ring? And don't you know I'll call on you proper Cora.. when the skies are cleared of Jerry's buzzing crates. To the city by the river, and your silken clothesline.. I'll take your mended hand, like you took a flyboy's heart. World War II - A love story