Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Night Flight

Eyes red, tongue dry, your bones whine.
Hovering over toy towns invisible in darkness,
you crave home, your bed, your sleep,
a fresh apple and peach.

Guy in the next seat snores; his eyelids twitch.
Girl across the aisle sips from a plastic bottle.
Her gulps reach your ears, and under the overhead light,
a woman, yawning, holds a book upside down.

Attendant, too sweet, too green, dims the lights
now shining like dusty candles.
You listen to the engine sing falsettos to the ocean
and hope the pilot is not blind drunk.

Sleepless, you flounder in thoughts or obscenities
as memories infest, shoulders ache, feet hurt,
and you still keep vigil over nerves soaring
on extended wings, yours and those of the plane.


Prompt: exhaustion