The Great Flying Contrast

A favourite scene began to play out
- ‘The Great Flying Contrast’ I call it
a jet plane
man’s roaring mimic
the straining steel
of a propelled rocket
the crashing catapult
of a screaming staining bullet
tiny
tin-can
sailing
full of soft human faces

A few thousand feet below
a gliding bird
the epitome of effortless instinct
just feet and feathers
balancing in the circle winds
of a simple
Sunday afternoon

I couldn’t help but smile