Washed up on an island paradise 

Needing to leave,this land of rum and spice

Four thousand miles at least to travel

How to fix, its  a conundrum, to unravel

From the Carib sea so lush and blue

To the grey cold world of the North Sea true

Sailing in a boat would take too long 

 and storms might make the journey wrong

We need to soar and fly like a bird

It’s a possible scenario,so I have heard

A metal contraption fitted with wings 

and engines, flaps plus wheels and things

Will take to the sky with a heavy load

Fly over oceans high in the air in extreme cold

In a shuddering can tricked out for sitting

We find ourselves airborne, it’s only  fitting  

The inside divided into several classes

Strapped into seats by the crew, our masters

They give us drinks they bring us food

To keep us happy to lighten our mood

A screen and headphones for entertainment 

In a vibrating can  there is no abatement

How can one sleep or concentrate 

The plane it bumps, the aircon grates

Those lauding flying might overstate

The virtues and comfort of this real estate

In serried ranks three hundred people squat 

Waiting for landing and a time best forgot.

Last night I flew home from Barbados on a crowded plane, tired, unable to sleep

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