Writing on the Wall

High in The Barns eave’s
from a gnats perspective
blue Fairy, gleams and flashes
fish-like, as it swims among open beams.

Sees anxious faces stare up
listen to the whirr of wings,
watch delicate manoeuvres.
It views us ‘round the

decorated tree, a circle
from above not tall, and spread
below explosions of paper fragments
tinsel-trail to table debris,
and testing detective edges,
a Cluedo game progresses in the hall.

We sit, guide a remote controlled descent,
before our walk. Floor rushes up
meets helicopter, Silverlit,
from Amazon.net, her
desert-storm-dust-sparkle blows
in operation smile,
eat, play, relax,
a stroll between the courses.

The chat; roasties first,
lingering on taste buds,
and the sudden burst of laughter,
when the Moet cork fires up thirty feet,

hits the roof and targets back to bottle,
‘that was a neat,’ to toast the execution
of a Seasonal mission gone to plan,
but for some it’s another Christmas in Afghanistan.

B.Fry 26th Dec 2007