A poem by Beverly Stock.
Fog is white and deep and dense Aircraft wheels are on the ground Arrows on the wall map shows Our pending flight 9 hours long. Patiently we wait our turn Jets and props all in a cue Full of aviation fuel to burn Moving forward by inches few. Our 767 ready next Squeal of engines, just a test Comfort, calm and privacy In my seat, a First class nest. 8 hours more on the screen Until we are again on land Easy on the alcohol Increases swell in feet and hands. Small window shows scenic gaze Spires in cities down below Gazing at the flat horizon Inches moving very slow. Lunch aroma in the air Naptime, then, I think is near How much longer I don’t know I rhyme thru the hemispheres.