Kite

A kite is a lost lover - you give her to the wind...but not quite
So, one blustery day, I flung my California Wasp into the raging white
My face incarnadined, my fists, like a boxer's, jerked one at a time
while my kite thrashed like a gilthead bream on a fishing line, then began to climb

up, up nimbus rapids, over rocks of cloud, vigorous, alive,
then, just as I thought it might kiss the sun's feet, the climb became a dive
I made an involuntary right hook, dug in my heels - a joint cracked,
and by the time I'd steadied myself, it was too late - I couldn't act

in time to avoid the collision between stunt-kite and bird of prey
I spun round. That foolish falconer stood on a hillock, his arms a-flay!
Cursing, I tried to haul the kite in, but the tangled, struggling raptor
proved too strong. It was hard to say who was captured and who was captor!

Pulled bodily forward, I saw the hawk fly low and dart across a road,
and on that road a cyclist - blonde as butter his long hair flowed
Nearing the roadside, I once more vainly bit into the earth with my heels
The line went taut as a mandolin string as the cyclist hit it - the clattering wheels

still haunt me now, and oft I awake, panting like a man in a jig
to visions of blonde heads spinning like Heero's steam-powered whirligig!