FridayIIII July

Just nipping through space,
To the other side of the world.
Travelling at a sense defying, aeronautical pace.
Wishing I’d packed less shoes and brought a towel.
Never one to take what I need.

The boy in row b,
Desperately needs to pee,
His dad looks ready to jump.
‘When the seatbelt signs off, then you can pee.’
He says like he’s not going to scream.
The row c girls,
slicking holiday-hair,
Compete with row b in decibels.

In some countries they clap on landing
The British don’t.
It his job to land.
Let’s not get enthusiastic.
Let’s be glad we’re in one piece,
And nothing fell off the metal beast.

The hostesses are black-eyed.
Dutifully bright,
Caked in duty-free make up.
Doing a good impression of breezy.
Eye bags made from millions of sleepless miles.
Night-time twice in one day.
Sending biorhythms into disarray.
Poor flying souls one can only hope they sleep in the next city.

A heavenly elephant.
Cloud to cloud the plane clumsily prances.
Leaving perfect jet streams,
Zipping from days to night and passing dreams.