Kite Poem by Bob Oldfield

I never was good
At getting kites to fly.
I run until I am blue in the face,
Turn with anticipation and look upwards
To find the stupid thing
Laying on its back on the floor
Glaring at me
Daring me to try again
I swear it’s grinning at me
Smirking, even…

Despite a hurricane behind me
And a firm resolve,
I still can’t do it. It won’t let me.
It won’t cooperate. It just laughs.
I beat it with a branch, John Cleese style,
Nothing
I even stroke it and whisper words of love
Nothing.
It hates me

It hates me and I feel abandoned
I feel inadequate and inferior
I look with envy
At the six year old
Close by
Who’s flying her kite beautifully
Swooshing, spinning, turning somersaults
Diving and gliding

I’m gutted.
Devastated.
For my future peace of mind
I determine
Never to try flying kites again

The kite simply chuckles