Monday, November 9, 2009

The Captain

Perched atop his electric wheelchair
the captain of this tiny vessel in a bustling park
grasped the pole with his aged fingers

And his little grey dog
sniffed the dried leaves and gum behind him.

With a quiet whir
he began to reel it in.
A fluttering,
colorful fish
across the deep
blue Atlantic sky.

The wind picked up a bit. Tore at the ladies' skirts
and nipped at the scuttling leaves.

And he let out the line
and the kite shrank
and smaller
to a tiny speck.

Floating over the city. 

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