Object

A plane went down

On the golf course

When the fire trucks arrived

Off the fairway of the Ninth

The whole town was gathered around

As if drawn by some primal desire

To the smoke ring cloud

There’s a silver object over my wing

And there’s no known traffic below five thousand feet

Illuminates the water in my coriolis spire

A Cessna gone in the Bass Strait eventide

You and your brother

Watched scared and quiet

From the back seat of your father's car

As the earth wore the wreckages scar

You had just been playing around

When you aimed your gun at the sky

And brought the whole thing crashing down

Something hovers in a liquid sky

A Cessna gone in the Bass Strait eventide