A Cockpit

 

Not far the town's railway station

there was a council tip.

To be expected it was full 

of a myriad of rubbish.

My cousin and I walked there

on one of our adventures.

We were forever exploring

finding new places of interest.

As we clambered about

we came across a cockpit

of a fighter plane.

The fuselage and wings 

had been removed.

It was not long after the

end of the war.

I climbed inside

pretending to be the pilot.

I had the enemy in my sights

ready to fire a cannonade.

Then I noticed a glove 

on the floor.

I returned from my imaginary sortie

to this unusual find.

Had it belonged to the pilot?

Was he still alive?

My cousin had not seen it and we soon

returned home.

The image of that solitary

glove has never left me.