Heathrow Poem by Paul Cormier

Inspired by Maurice Riordan

Hear the engines revving
Like held-back hounds keen to go?
Four fire breathers, two to a wing,
And ahead we start to roll.

Commit. Abort. Commit. Abort.
There is only the one right choice.
Feel the cabin quiver as we tone down
And talk descends to one lone voice.

What's it like to move a mountain?
I'd like to ask the Captain that
But he's busy right now routing
Talk to the tower and pulling back

The throttle—or levering it ahead?
Evidently he's decided what we can
And cannot bear, and, steeply climbing,
Struts bayloading, we breathe out as we can

Maybe too early? —as our long drooped wings
Seem to battle something, and good fortune's lift
Acts a little dodgy. As when what a storm brings,
Dear, I watch you squeeze your emerald rosary.

Murked prayers seem answered! Mindless
Yap, mindful talk, resumes—the Fatalist
Tells an unfunny joke, an antsy queue forms
For the coveted toilet, the mind reels off

What could happen if some one thing goes wrong.
Is there a Jihadist aboard? An infant squeals.
Cabin lights blink. In minutes we are a feather.
In hours we slam down hard on twenty-two wheels.




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