While on a recent flight

Flying economy class (as usual) - a poem

The father who insists on sitting by the window,
staring blankly to the bleak outside,
running into accidental reflections,
whilst his only child, their little daughter,
bawls at being transferred to the middle row.
His wife pensive,
wondering if they have one child or two.

The family of four, insulated,
man on the laptop (headphones),
woman with the i-Pod, (eyes closed)
a three year old, lost, questions unanswered,
a six month old baby, blocked; pacifier does its dirty deed.
Their grandmother sits across the aisle, closed;
advanced Alzheimer's.

Then we have the obliging old couple (baby boomer?)
responding to a request
to give up their seats and move upfront.
Apparently the pilots discovered,
this plane was rear heavy.
I did not believe them for some reason,
but you can't make those suspicions public, any more.

The young couple four seats away,
furtively steal their urgent kisses
amidst heavy breathing, cheap coke cups, paper napkins
and obese vacationers praying for summer.
I fervently hope they make it
long after
their initial, physical rush.


We had a seat at the very end,
one of those that you cannot recline,
it was all right, minor discomforts – no match for
the free understanding and introductions,
as we collectively head off to hopeful vacations,
cursive beginnings, slipshod divorces and some fruitless seething.