Flying in a pink leotard

Mid-Nineties, Broadgate Arena, London,
when the sky could hardly limit,
I took a lunchtime stroll
to daydream riches.

It was easy then, the future
always another floor up.
There in the sun-rich square,
a trapeze had been erected and a girl

in a pink leotard risked the open air,
trusting her skill against a free-fall,
the arc of her body rising
in the mirrored windows of investment banks.

She was a sure creature of heaven,
as if she would never
have to touch down,
take the underground home from the city.


Frank Dullaghan

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