Ode to a Hose-Nose Pilot
or
How Fouled Up Can You Get?

by Harley Hull, LT USNR
AIO VF-874 (1951)

out of the sack   four o’clock
into the wardroom  half cooked slop

up the ladder   ready room
hops delayed   wait ‘till noon

now the brief   bullshit lou
aio   of 102

squawk box grumbles   alcoholic tom
aio   of the old bon homme

bombline changes   that’s about it
except for river rat   and that kind of shit

flight leader says   seven minutes ahead
wish that guy   would drop dead

e suit g suit   helmet vest
longies boots   old mae west

on the flight deck   snow and rain
into the hose nose   with the aid of a crane

admiral on deck   can see the bow
launch ‘em boys   launch ‘em now

a pop a groan   a spit a sputter
leave the bow   with full right rudder

flight leader chides   burns your ears
you’ve flown corsairs   ten frigging years

circle target   enemy mans guns
then you make   twenty-five frigging runs

back to the ship   work all done
not a bad job   with only one gun

a high a low   not too smooth
a fast a slow   long in the groove

back aboard   half a wreck
asshole aching   crick in neck

wing shot off   tail is missing
pants are wet   just finished pissing

to the aio   moan and slobber
about the target   always clobber

out of the cloth   into the sack
taxi hop?   shove it jack

then you sleep   dreams are wet
corsair hosed   by a frigging jet