Sat on a plane
Going quietly insane
Waiting for take off
For traffic control
To allow us
To take to the air
To wind our way home
Belted in can’t move
Air conditioning
Struggling to freshen
The stifling heat
The suffocating stuffiness
Feeling tetchy
Irritable and growing irate
Our journey home’s
Going to be intolerably late
I rifle through the magazine
Full of so called brilliant offers
For watches and perfume
But there’s only so many
Times I can manage
To get excited by some
New fangled gadget
I even read the safety on board card
From top to bottom
Both front and back
Checked the sick bag
All present and empty
At last the engines
Roar into action
Still sat on a plane
But now going home.