A squeal, sharp as to break
a sheet of glass,
pierced the summer afternoon.
The unmistakable aroma
of sizzling sausages,
balancing in parade,
above charcoal flames
only to finish up in the sticky
hands of a child.
A scruffy little kid, whose bemused
expression caused laughter.
He turned his attention
to a slim, smiling man
stood clenching a fistful of strings.
The boy stared skyward
waving at the pocketed air
held tight in a transparent rubber casing.
He jumped up and down
until he held his own piece of string
attached to the bouncy miniature blimp.
The fat shape of the balloon
held the youngsters eyes.
He was hypnotised by
this featherweight flying machine.
Then the earth-shattering squeal
as the string unravelled
from his small fingers.
Tears pounded his reddened cheeks
His dream
had taken flight and was now heading
for a boisterous collision on high.
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