Here's another of my favorites from Greg's new Book.
Kites at the Washington Monument
"What's up, today, with our lovers?"
W. D. Snodgrass
At fingertip control
These state-of-the-art stunt kites
Chandelle, wingover, and roll
To dive from conspicuous heights,
Whatever the pilots will,
While the wowed audience follows
As the kites come in for the kill
And slice up the air like swallows
But look, across the park
Someone has put together--
What is it? It looks like a lark
Tossed up into the weather.
It's homemade out of paper
That tumbles and bobs like a moth
On another meaningless caper.
Why, it's a bit froth
Spun on a blue lake,
A name or a wrinkled note
Dropped into the wake
Of an ocean-going boat.
But still it pulls itself higher
As he would pull it back.
The line goes tight as wire,
Or sags, falling, and goes slack,
And while the audience claps
At the aerobatic buzz,
It flutters, quiets, then it snaps.
But that's about all it does.
Flying its tail of rags
Above these broken lands,
It's one of those white flags
For things that are out of our hands,
The hoisted colors of
Of attenuated hope,
The handkerchief of a love
That's come to the end of its rope.
When the line breaks, the string
Floats to the ground in the wind.
He stands there watching the thing
Still holding up his end
As the kite heads into the sky
Like a sail leaving a slip.
The rags wave goodbye.
They're scarves at the back of a ship.
|