Old Warden Airfield.
Radio Control
Clutching the box, twitching the sticks
the plane leaps at his command
loops and rolls in a cloud brushed paper sky
where paper planes once whirled
round childhood fantasies.
Man in a field, head in the clouds,
heavy with all the years of loss
clutching the radio-kite-string of a dream,
testing his skill like a child
in a dangerous game of dare.
Closing one eye, trying to understand
where the sight went, where the time went,
why sometimes anticipation and excitement die
and the man in the field is just a man in a field
flying a model plane.
Ken's Poetry 
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