Pilots You see them in the terminal, Walking alongside roller bags, Alone, or in pairs like cranes, Wearing their airline's regalia. Their hair is cut crisp at the neck. They order a coffee like we do, Examine the wan sandwiches In the glass case, sigh and pay The marked-up airport price. They are like us in every way Except that they've learned to fly. Soon, hundreds of lives Will be in their hands. I know, I know - autopilot. Hear me out.