Radio flyers move their planes

in concentric circles,

oblivious to dogs

and rules

Another joins

from across the lake.

It’s A spitfire,

and they do battle

above the field

flying

on a sunny Sunday.

Some might say they haven’t grown up.

Others would suggest they’re unwanted.

but these enthusiasts of the air are the rhythm of the world,

Irresponsible in their love.

Pleasant in their play.

Not caring in their stationary dance.

Leisure seekers enter and exit the park

but radio flyers

stand still

watching their planes

from the ground

hypnotized by freedom.

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