Air Sick

We queued to launch our metal wings

Into turbulance

Where we were sh-sh-shoo-ke-ke-shoook

Cups and lips missing

Hot drinks undrunk shivering

Stomaches leapt, stretched, compressed

The purrrrlinggg! rings

Co-pilot politely runs through somethings

That at this time sound vital

As our flimsy belts constrain our forms

Within the mainframe of this compact

Missile loaded with the human virus

Complex beasts with complex needs

Agendas, wishes, dreams, plans, schemes

To land on friends and family whether willing or otherwise

They will be delivered

From this misery

Should this plane not glide safe and sound

But crash to ground in smithereens.

CLP 12/10/2018