Airbus 333


descend down into the belly of the beast
into the bowels of the underworld
hear the machinery of the morlocks thudding dully through the industrial gray walls
steel steps clanging as feet file down in orderly lines
we silently trudge
(“the prisoners will not speak…”)
one emotional cell-phoner treated to the eyeflits and blanded faces of all those who ignore with intent
move along
funnel along
into the designated pen
rewarded by a shrinkwrapped “treat”
(I never knew eggs could be that color)
stay seated
turn off
stay seated….
we fall out of the sky
here is a yellow vest and instruction card
to wave at the approaching hardpack ground
stay in your place
stay seated
Thank you
thank you
thank you

*Written during my latest 16 hour, 2 layover flight. Good thing I am not prone to overdramatization isn’t it…lol…Moooooo*



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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