Hot air
balloons
in summer months
surprise, bubble, puff out
and up from Bath. They rise,
mid-morning-moons above sky-line
and trees, drift over roads and rivers
and our garden. We should be
used to them by now
but they are always
unexpected
Once for a treat
I joined them in a bright
red, birthday of a balloon.
Anticipation mounted before
we set ourselves free. Instructions,
positions, excited farewells, waving
then sudden surge and woosh
of uplift, hardly leaving time to
speak to diminishing
earthlings
below.