A Poem by Ralph Hawkins

Paper Planes, The Wind, Trees

It’s not easy to saw down a large tree when the wind is howling through a forest.

In her bedroom Poppy wrote a letter to her Aunt in such a wind.

“I have killed a mad dog with a sharp stick from the forest.” Who knows?

That day a paper airplane landed next door – with enough energy and fecundity we can secure the future.

Poppy told her Aunt to keep all of her money in her drawer.

The banking crisis had certainly taught some people new tricks.

I sat under a tree of Walnut smoking a cigarette watching the new arrivals disembark from the paper plane.

They certainly knew how to throw a party.

The sky became dark with cloud and the trees shook with the power of the rain.

Refreshments and drinks were being served. I crossed over the wooden bridge to get a closer look.

They were all getting rather far too carried away on self-indulgent hedonistic flights.

Thankfully they were digging holes for themselves.

I knew Poppy would never answer my question about the dead dog. I wondered if she would bury it.

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