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.
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