Peccadillo

When I talk about my family,
I'm talking of course about
kites. Imagine tying one

to the end of a train.
The strapped air can shoot you
back. The cross boughs
into its wire. Hair
and wind switch.

Below, there are people in the staging
hung on the last car.
They're toasting someone.

I spend my parties in the air.
Snapping plastic this way
and that. The toasters raise their
flutes. They and I believe
I'm waving back.

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Copyright © 2011 Scott Minar All rights reserved
from Ninth Letter
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission