mean lioness steward asking me if I want a drink.
I say
I DONT KNOW . . .
I dont; my science AWOL
on
board
a
sky
machine.
mean lioness steward gives forms out.
I say
DO I NEED IT?
I take one . . .
seat
in
front
shoots
back . . . I say
FUCKS SAKE!
it retreats out my lap.
Johnny says
YOU CANT BE LIKE THAT MAN .
I say
FUCKS SAKE THO !
quiet arab crumpled everyday clothes
(now sky planes nothing special to him)
in
the
seat
next to me
indicating
my
pen
without a PLEASE.
he writes in his form.
now
some frightened numpty,
some daily mail reader,
some small mind paranoid
could
hiccup
with daft freedom and plane fear at his geography list
in these big bomb times
but
me,
I think hes travelling dark with oil money
and
big bombs been blowing
since the
genius of china
or
balloons
over
1849.
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