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.
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
to a tiny speck.
Floating over the city.