You’d get a piece of your mum's notepaper or even a page from a jotter with scribbles on, then fold and refold it until, hey presto, you had something aerodynamic.
Long after my childhood ended, some genius copied the basic design and called it Concorde, but that’s another story.
PAPER PLANE
He lets fly a paper plane,
from his window airstrip, high
into gentle light that seems to welcome it.
The folded-foolscap floats and glides.
His bright eyes follow its haphazard flight:
first right
then left,
erratic as a butterfly.
Down, down it drifts,
a pleated page of insubstantial words.
It dips and stalls,
then on warm updrafts, rises again
briefly
like a despairing cry.
He lets fly a paper plane,
from his window airstrip, high
into gentle light that seems to welcome it.
The folded-foolscap floats and glides.
His bright eyes follow its haphazard flight:
first right
then left,
erratic as a butterfly.
Down, down it drifts,
a pleated page of insubstantial words.
It dips and stalls,
then on warm updrafts, rises again
briefly
like a despairing cry.
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