'No, you can't put your bag in the hatrack.
It'll have to go on the floor,
And I'm sorry you can't put it there, Sir,
You see, that's an emergency door.
I'm sorry, this isn't your seat, Ma'am.
It belongs to this gentleman here.
And your son's just removed all the oxygen masks.
Yes, isn't he a dear.
I'm sorry, I don't have pesetas,
But I do have change of a dollar,
And I'm dreadfully sorry the plane gave a lurch
And I spilled that beer on your collar.
I'm afraid, Sir, we've run out of bourbon.
You'll settle for a whisky sour?
Miss, when are we going to get there?
Two hours ago, you told me an hour.
Now the purser comes down from the galley,
Having finished his backgammon game,
Says, '23A wants a couple of beers.
Here, you take them, er - Whatsyourname.
Now I'm sitting in the galley,
Massaging my aching feet,
When a head pokes itself round the curtain,
And says, 'Miss, my son's wet his seat.'
At last London is looming beneath us,
And the 'plane is touching down.
And they're scrambling for the exits
Before the wheels hit the ground.
Now I'm standing in the doorway,
And smiling and saying 'Goodbye'
And I'm so relieved that it's over
That I wonder why I fly.
| 
Email this Poetry
| 
Add to reading list
