Time is 3am, my alarm starts ringing,
Abruptness of it cuts my dream, and leaves my head spinning,
My body screams “NOOOOO!” as it curls up in a whimper,
Early morning starts, even worse in the winter.
I trudge through the routine of getting up and ready,
Walk to catch the bus, half asleep, dazed but steady.
Urban city streets fast asleep and deserted,
A big yellow “M” and my attentions diverted.
Much needed diversion, though quite unhealthy start,
“A big mac with fries, please?” to help me break-the-fast,
20 past 4, the bus finally leaves the station,
And slowly fills up as we approach our destination.
Check-in feels too easy, like I hopped into a taxi,
A queue jumper the highlight, as she muscles her way past me,
Peoples politeness tested, as many start to mutter,
An angry woman shouts “Oi! You must be a nutter!!”
“Queue jumping like that, mate, its really quite rude!”,
“Over here in Britain, yeah, we love a good queue.”
I people-watch in departure lounge to gauge the crowd at hand,
A young couple on honeymoon, 3 lads part of a band,
A new-born baby’s cry can be heard through the roof,
A stag party for “Ricky”, lads on tour to Magaluf.
The gate number announced, a mad rush to be the first,
With hand luggage maxed-out, my arms about to burst,
Crowded shuttle bus ride, with no words ever uttered,
We walk up steps to board the flight, I’m absolutely shattered!
Crammed between a window seat and man with arms like boulders,
My legs are stiff, my back just clicked, the sun burns my right shoulder,
The cabin crew politely check to see we’re all intact,
Pilot speaks through muffled speakers, then we leave at last.
The sheer noise and vicious speed shakes me up inside,
As underbelly of plane and land gradually divide.
No music player or screens on board to keep us entertained,
But views outside spectacular, I really can’t complain.
We burst up through the clouds and slowly level out,
A selfie-takers dream, raised eyebrows and cheeky pout.
The toddler sat in front lifts his head over the seat,
A momentary pause as his eyes and mine meet.
Unsure if he should smile back or simply wail away,
I pull funny faces, before he cries and turns away.
“What kind of parent would I be?” is all that I could think,
He’d gazed at me so fervently and hardly even blinked.
I try to get a little sleep before the flight is over,
But two rows back, annoying chat just keeps my eyes wide open.
I ease drop with little choice, the thoughts of two loud males,
And reflect and write a little poem, of “budget airline tales.”
©2015, by Gome