Ode to the Controllers
The student's new; the day is clear; the needles are alive,
And on the run-up ramp we wait, because we're number five.
With eight jets on the ILS
Six students out trying their best
Left pattern, but with small success
I know the tower must be stressed
They keep them separate, and safe, but how, who really knows?
And so, I'm sheepish, when I ask, "Could we have touch and goes?"
And yet, they try, and in we squeeze
But taking off the crosswinds seize
And toss us 'round, it's not with ease,
That I say, "Try wings level, please."
I need to talk my student through: "Look right, turn left,
Trim, checklist, GUMPS, arc, notch of flaps, speed, scan, crab, call the tower."
When from the noise of my headset, a voice of little cheer,
That says "Four Echo Charlie, Hanscom Tow'r, how do you hear?"
The student naively replies, "We've got you loud and clear,"
But I just know the tower's saying, "You up there drinking beer?
"I've tried you several times to say
That there's a jet headed your way
So listen so that, loud and clear,
You won't become Citation smear."
Sometimes the pilots get annoyed when they say, "Hold
And call me in ten minutes 'cause we're busy here about."
And they snap, too, when we screw up, or if we don't reply,
Or when their expectation of us isn't how we fly
But sev'ral hours ev'ry day, in them, not god, we trust
And if I had to keep in mind 12 planes, I'd be nonplussed.
So thank you to controllers. You show us what you're worth
We'll try to do in th' heavens, what you're willing us from earth.