Bernard Chan Poet Prose Poetry

Minimums

“Minimums”, 
the onboard computer announces.
A couple of hundred feet of air left between 
runway and plane.

For pilots, decision time.

Land, 
or abort, go around.

Commit,
or not.

Kudos to them.
They almost always make 
the right decision.

Too often, it feels like my minimums 
are at 100,000 feet.

All the time in the world.
 
And I still 
get it wrong. 

And there’s no going around.

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Maureen McGreavy Pigeon Tart October 19, 2018 at 11:23 AM Nice one! xomo Bernard Chan October 19, 2018 at 9:28 PM Thank you, Maureen :)

Caren Krutsinger October 19, 2018 at 2:55 AM A scary thought, if you get the wrong pilot on the wrong day, or a preoccupied pilot who hesitates. I had not really thought about it until now, so thank you for a poem that shakes me up. Bernard Chan October 19, 2018 at 9:34 AM You're welcome, Caren :) And thank you :)