A luckless captive in the sky,
Suspended here five miles high,
Now Singapore is ten hours back,
And LHR, three down the track.
Seat back screens so we won't be bored,
More space is what we need, dear Lord,
The clown in front is full reclined,
My screen's so close I'm going blind,
My face, I'm sure, can only be,
Six inches from the LCD.
'Some breakfast sir, the cold or hot? '
'Surprise me' - oh dear, what a clot!
And so I get the scrambled eggs,
'If only I could stretch my legs',
Now as the years begin to flee,
I'm too old for 'Economy',
'Business' or 'First' from here on in,
If only I can raise the tin.
Time was I thought it fine to fly,
A mile high - but here's the rub,
I'm now too old to join the club.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.