She Screamed

She screamed

like the heroine of some old horror movie,

hand-over-the-face and wild eyes.

She screamed

as the balloon swelled and left the ground

and rose up so softly, so gently.

It was her birthday surprise.

That announcement made the first scream.

“Madam,” said the balloonist imploringly.

“There are country codes. Control yourself.”

She stopped screaming and studied the view.

“Like God up here,” she said as they drifted

over those beautifully modelled Devon hills:

pretty little lanes, hedgerows, patchwork fields.

She shook her head, stunned into a lasting

silence. Voice gone.

                           Descending now.

A little bumpy in the wind.

She saved her screams

for when they bounced off the ground

and bumped and bumped and bumped

and rolled over into a huge pile of manure.

“You can stop screaming now,” said the balloonist.