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Ode to the Starboard Bridge Wing Veteran

When you’re sitting in Combat, all the blue lights aglow,
It’s not easy to tell pong from ping.
But the sonar sounds clearer, and the sub is much nearer
As you stand on the starboard bridge wing.

When refueling at sea with Brazil’s LST
You’re so nervous your ears start to ring.
But their zig-zagging track seems as calm as a rack
When you’re out on the starboard bridge wing.

Either Z-5-O or anti-ship ops
Can be dangerous — safety’s the thing.
But the drone or the sled will appear good as dead
When you’re called to the starboard bridge wing.

You’ve entered the minefield Callao, Peru.
It’s so hot that your pants start to cling.
But the El Niño air doesn’t soothe your derriere
As you’re reamed on the starboard bridge wing.

Cuz the wing is his pulpit, the chair is his throne.
He, the Captain, alone, is the king.
We, his court, are mere jokers, his entourage–fools
As we stand on the starboard bridge wing.

Now the mem’ries are fading, the scars start to heal
And the passage of time fades the sting.
Since the new king enthroned has a style all his own:
No more lynchings out on the bridge wing.

Some have been there quite often, others not quite a lot.
Yet we all have our mem’ries to bring.
Of the good and the bad that the Mighty “D” had
And the fun on the starboard bridge wing.

Written in 1992 to commemorate the decommissioning of the U.S.S. DAHLGREN (DDG-43).

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