THE OLD AIRFIELD
Over the flat space
Dry grass speckled with bramble, a couple
Of people in coats walk small dogs.
Two men and a boy
In baseball caps fly radio-controlled
Red aircraft in great lazy loops and dives.
Two generations have passed
Since this held Spitfires and uneasy laughter
While raw young men played dog-eared cards
Donated by some others not now named
And waited, not for long
School, training, first beer, first kiss, death
A story only missing the belief:
A job that with a churning stomach must be done
And the brief freedom of the veering skies.