I shied away from instruction
I fumbled about in the cardboard
Box that all the plastic parts came in,
And found the glue was not included

It was a war plane, olive drab, sharp and round
At the same time, certain parts fit together nicely
When I was old enough to buy the little glass bottle
The smell of cement covered the whole thing
And made itself the memory of satisfying assembly

The smallest parts I would leave off
They were too easily lost, bent, snapped
I was unclear exactly where they were to go
Eventually I departed from what it looked like
On the cover, made my own bomber, and
Played and played.