over the F-86 North American
Super Sabre.
They brought his little den
to Amarillo AFB through the gate
on a blue Air Force bus.
There was a working full size
model of a jet engine
sealed in a glass case.
Cub scouts ate hamburgers
in the mess hall with airmen
in blue uniforms with silver stars.
That was ’59.
In ’89 I sat in the main
gatehouse of Atlas refinery
in my green polyester
with a yellow patch
and the rumor was
a huge jet fuel pipeline
ran from Atlas under the Red
to Barksdale AFB where Wild Weasels
sucked up fuel for 3 a.m. strafing runs
over our sleepy burg
and the gray ancient Buffs began
their long round trips
to Guam and back.