The signs pull into view,
The officials with their tags and uniforms,
Ushering I with my forms
To the lines for luggage and pass,
Before entering economy class
Shoes off for the scan-o-matic,
Along with anything electronic.
Long lines to the tarmac,
Overhead storage – in with the back pack.
The anonymousness of the space,
Looking around to keep pace.
People asleep even before lift-off.
Young people returning to roots,
Men on a business commute.
Strapped in and snug
As a bug in a rug.
The low hum of the cogs,
Voices over the intercom,
The timelessness of that cocoon,
No way to count but by the moving hands.
Being thrown back in your seat,
Moving forward at high speed
I alone with my thoughts,
My planning and my plots.
Occasionally glancing at the watch,
The whites outside the window causing blotch.
Land comes into view.
The end of this aerial move.
I want to tell the head on board,
‘Let me off here, I’m seriously bored’
Coming down to terra firma,
And now time to do the clearance.
I wheel out my luggage,
To continue the rest of my passage.
- Why is the sky ugly (wiki.answers.com)