artwork: ralph murre
by Jan Oskar Hansen
The painting in the hall, of an old bi-plane flying
across a blue sky, was different this morning.
It had landed by a waterfall and the pilot stood
leaning against the plane’s fuselage slowly
smoking a cigarette, eyes closed, enjoying every
moment, every inhale of scented tobacco.
I looked at the painting again; the sky was dark,
there was lightning in the air, the pilot had flown to
the front and collided with a barrage balloon.
The plane was broken as if thrown to the ground by
a spoilt boy who had wanted a fire-engine for his
birthday, and now only the blue sky prevails.
~ first published in The Writing Forum