The skies were never ours to start with – 

So, you see, we simply had to have them. 

“Fill the earth,” He said; we said, “but first, the air.” 

He put a stop to that, initially. But look at us today, 

Ten thousand years the smarter, 

Umpteen fingers reaching upwards later: 

Fastening 

Our seatbelts, switching 

Our devices into flight mode, stowing 

Carry-on and tables, clutching 

Armrests, digging in our nails and sucking 

Urgently on complimentary Love Hearts (‘WhatsApp Me’).

Next thing, we’re thirty thousand 

Feet from chaos; gazing at the mist below 

Above the sea. Three whole free-falling minutes 

. 

. 

. 

But it shouldn’t have to come to that, 

Provided we obey procedure. 

For the safety of your fellow passengers please keep 

The aisles clear, your questions to yourself until we’ve landed;

Do not dream of any different sandwich; 

Do not hold out for another cup of tea. 

This is your sandwich; you have had your cup of tea;

And all you need to know is on the safety card 

Located in the pocket on the rear side of the seat in front of you

With which you are familiar already. 

We are estimated to arrive on time; 

We only ask that you believe, with every fibre 

Of your flight socks; every inclination 

Of your tray table; believe it 

From the bottom of your Love Heart (‘I Surrender’)

Or, like Tinkerbell but with more 

Fire, more hysteria, more sandwiches asunder, more

Collateral destruction, we will fall, 

And all of it – the bloody kit and frightening kaboodle – will be

Wholly and unbearably 

On you.