Last evening, just at the moment I was sipping
My red wine and stirring the bolognaise for the spaghetti
A light plane was beaming in on the landing strip. A young wife
Was looking for loose change for the meter and buttoning up the jacket
Over the pyjamas of the smallest child.
It was dark and foggy and somehow the plane became lost
And smashed into a field near the airport as I was getting plates
Out of the oven. Amazingly, two of the ten survived and cried
For help all the way through Holmes and some of a new reality TV series.
This morning over a cup of tea, I see all their loved faces,
Smiling at me from the front page and also a picture of the wreckage.
It’s a small city and I recognise two young men from high school.
One was head boy, one was a twin and both had PhD’s.
Their wine is untouched, the meal congealed and cold.
Tomorrow the paragraphs will be smaller. Some funerals
Will be covered. It’s certain and aviation investigation will proceed.
Relatives have been contacted and flowers and cards have been
Laid along the fence at the crash site.
It is raining today and the petals have browned and wilted,
Ribbons escaped and caught on barbed wire, the words blurred
And illegible on the cards. The turbulence is visible, grey cloud
Is racing across a winter sky and it’s hard to tell
Which way up the world is.