The heat pounds through skin and blazers.
It reflects off the steely grey silhouette that is a business citadel
A plane roars its approach. Bouyant metal shines against a stark azure sky.
It flies over towering scrapers, souring over each figure,
its belly exposed to those below.
Each metalic building from its concrete foundations clamours for a view of the heavens;
standing defiantly as the plane teeters dangerously between a moment of life and death.
Every time the screeching approach of an airbus sounds its arrival,
ears prick to the sirens as the murmer of movement beats on to the earthen pavememts.
Minds flash for an instant of that transmitted image.
A plane soaring
becoming a fleeting moment of breath;
a suck of air and a split second of quivering anticipation.
Planes are not only weapons, but destroyers, too;
studying as if it were yesterday
that the Wright brothers were the Castor and Pollux of this age of travel.
I wonder what they teach at school.
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