The Wires Singing

What did you think when you saw my machine,
its fabulous frailty, wide canvas wings,
wicker-bound seat and the hungry propeller?

It was my wooden-ribbed dream: a canvas-
skinned craft with a gasoline-driven heart.

Did you see the flash powder explode the wind,
could you hear the reporters stab me with questions?
I was surrounded by sceptics, hawkers and spectators too.
Which were you?
Were you surprised when the engine cracked
the air with its oil-fuelled cough and the propeller
chewed the breeze? Did you wave as the biplane
nudged the grass, skipped down the field
and leapt for the sky?

Did you pause, holding your breath, wondering
what would be next? Or were you part of the crowd
that danced and cheered, wrestling your feet from the mud,
pitching your hats into the sky to join me in flight?

Could you hear the lingering sound of the engine,
crackling on the edge of the breeze?
Did you stare into the depths of the sky, following
the high, thin cloud as it underlined the heavens?

Can you imagine the sights and sounds of the sky?
The sun glistening on the wing,
the cold rush of air through the wires,
singing the glory of flight?

Were you anxious for the sound of my reluctant return?

Did you see me crest the tree-lined outcrop,
feathered, faltering on the wind?
Could you hear the tentative beat
and irregular rhythm
of the engine’s final convulsions.

Tears streamed as the wing sheared.

What did you think as I tilted, span and fell
to the all-consuming earth? Did you run
when you heard the crump of the crash
or did you stand stock-still, planted in the ground?

When you saw the amber flames devour the wreck,
heard the wood crack, smelt the dream burn,
did you contemplate your own journey through life?

Maybe you thought of yourself, or your children,
your pedestrian path or their flight into the future.

What were you thinking when you saw me
fall from the sky?