“The Day Ted Rosser Fell into the Sea”

by Frederick Hinchliffe II

was stunningly Mediterranean,
the azurine sea drawn upon
by the wind from Africa
as if paved with azulejos.

Surely it was an accident, just that;
the admirals, the Russian trawler
the pilot, the canopy bolts:
all blameless.

It is an uncertain place
between the sea and the sky;
Navy airmen take their rest on one
their chances in the other.

But at the boundary,
no time for explanations
no way to say goodbye
at six-hundred knots.

The day Ted Rosser fell into the sea

was perhaps just a bad day
when Ted dropped something
and retrieving it snagged
the ejection handle.

We will build a wall to hide behind
when what we don’t know
and what we do know
come to ensnare us

For we will never know
whom to blame
and we cry in vain for