Scale

Mike Bell/ June 24, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

That never-made aircraft,
I vowed to complete,

is left high up,
beyond your reach,

confusing instructions,
re-folded, unread –

a father-and-son thing,
We can build it, I said.

To be hung from the ceiling,
our flown fabrication,

in truth scaled-back,
like most obligations.

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