Long haul

A thousand miles from any shore

And high above the clouds we soar,

Tight-packed, those around me snore.

I pray to God for sleep.

The air hostess with lipsticked grin

Speaks atop the engines’ din,

Her smile’s already turning thin:

We’ve 8 hours left to go.

My headphones may cut out some noise,

But batteries die in all such toys,

Any peace will be destroyed

When they run down to zero.

The screaming babe, with coughing dad

Sit rows ahead: of that I’m glad,

But cycled air will share what’s bad;

I’ll surely leave with covid.

And pity those too big for seats

With strapped-down flesh like packaged meat

Their simple wish: the sweet release

Of seatbelts taut and chafing.

So should an engine start to fail

And those around me cry and wail,

An early end to this dark tale?

I’d find it rather welcome.

...A thud, we’ve landed, ground once more

Beneath the wheels, of that I’m sure.

Buckles snap, an opened door.

For that, I’ll join their clapping.