The painting in the hall of an old bi-plane flying
across a blue sky, was different this morning,
it had landed by a waterfall and the pilots stood
leaning against the plane’s fuselage slowly
smoking a cigarette, eyes closed enjoying every
moment, every inhale of scented tobacco.
I looked at the painting again, the sky was dark,
there was lightning in the air, the pilot had flown to
the front and collided with a barrage balloon,
the plane was broken, as thrown to the ground by
a spoilt boy who had wanted a fire-engine for his
birthday, and now only the blue sky prevails.
