by | Apr 30, 2009 | Poetry | 0 comments

Racing paper aeroplanes through skies where smoke dwells
As mist in a foggy day- every day,
But we’re smiling- it isn’t always my dad lets us free as the missiles,
To roam the unpolluted streets,
His is a fighter- its grey as falling ash, but the spots it lands in
However scarred, always leave a new mark,
Mine’s just a jet- can go faster than fighters you know- race past
All the firing in its own fiery speed
We both throw our two week creations high in the dusklit sky
The aim of the game is to chase them as far as our undried soles can carry us
The first to catch theirs, wins- I’ve never won before,
On your marks, get set, go! I can feel the sandy horizons slip under my feet
The streamline beauties slicing through the air,
The scent of squeezed sugar- cane juice dilutes the smoke but I rush past
Feeling the sticky grains hop across my toes,
His irregular panting is just a few steps behind me now- I’m winning,
I’ve never won before, but I can’t look back because I’ll get lost,
I have to follow the buzzing sound of the plane- my plane- as it races non-stop,
I can hear it getting louder now- the purr turning into a roar-
Vibrations making the ground shake,
I can almost sense the tension in the air – I’ve never won before
The planes always fall before I get a chance to catch them,
I can’t hear breathing anymore- have I forgotten to breath- and then I realise,
It’s just because I’ve sped right past him,
Gasps are soaking in the holes of air- they must be surprised- Because I’ve never won before,
Then something strikes my ear-drum- have I won, is this what victory feels like-
I don’t like victory, it feels funny, unreassuring.
Sun- parched skin rubs against the patches of moist in my arm. Winning is so dry,
People everywhere, shoving me like the soldiers pushing everyone out of the way,
I don’t like winning- I just want to hear his breath again-
Surely he’s reached by now; I want the sweat- the grit of his palm,
Not this big bulky thing taking my hand,
Wait- why is the heat scraping my feet so quickly-
Where are they taking me, I hear trucks zoom past, have they taken my plane-
Or his plane, I don’t want them to, I don’t want any of this,
Screams are every where- I don’t like too much noise- people say I can hear too well,
But then why can I hear his voice!
The ground is disappearing- I feel water like surface grate my skin- it’s so slippery,
How come I am not drowning,
I smell a mixture of falling over and the new shops around the corner-
But everything seems new to me,
We are getting faster now- I feel salt bite into the scar under my eye,
Am I in the sea- maybe this is the end of the world,
Suddenly a rush of home floods my body- I can smell the sweat, the grit,
But where are the breaths, the panting,
A smooth palm slides into mine- moulded just for me- I smell the falling over again- but worse, I rest on his crooked shoulder- my chin automatically tilting to fit his shape,
Why isn’t he moving like normal -oh well- he must have fallen asleep,
I feel my eyelids falling- time to go home now, too much play,
A voice rings in my head:
I’ve won, I’ve won!
I’ve never won before.


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