A
Boyhood Dream in Tiny Bits
Austin
Edward Orchard
A boyhood
dream in tiny bits,
In
plastic bags for two and six.
The
smell of glue and modeller's paint,
The
spinning prop, the detail feint.
The
names of the gloried past,
The
few who flew the last;
The
Spit, the Hurricane and Messerschmidt,
From
each, the moulded pieces now made to fit,
Hung
from ceilings, imagination's skies,
Bits
of cotton their only ties.
Upon
the sideboards and bedroom tables,
Rested
on see-through stands, these fables.
With
names of courage, these high speed knights,
Who
joust in aluminium steeds behind circle sights.
Galland,
Callan, Cloisterman, Bader,
Who
still, in plastic form, fight this Airfix war.
From
the mouths of childish builders,
Come
the sounds of Merlins and Junkers,
The
rat tat tat of mounted canon,
Echoing
around the house at random;
And
when the armistice is called for tea,
These
machines return to reality
And
are placed upon their chosen spaces
When
beans on toast replace these hero aces.
Then
comes the evening, whilst tucked up in bed,
Once
more will we fly the skies, without dread,
Until
sleep takes its final toll
And
morning brings the dawn's roll call
With
thoughts of two and six.
| website
© Alison Orchard
|
August 2003 - updated November 2008 |