Thursday, January 26, 2012

On Flight 1680 (A Poem)


 On flight 1680 to New Orleans
Steward gives usual pitch
No one bothers listen
Evidenced by Wall Street Journal’s twitch.

Intercom expounds on oxygen loss
Of flotation and emergency escape.
Why only one “A” in flotation
 Is a plague upon my brain.

No wonder so few listen,
If only out of respect
For even mild decorum requires
A dose of introspect.

 Hark! What if wings fall off
Or plane goes down in flames
Who shall manage exit rows
Or calm the panicked cage?

 Rivers far below are mixing
Violent cobalt and roiling brown
The land a meandering patchwork
That knits an earthen crown.

 I stand to answer nature’s call
Peer o’er headrests blue
Statue heads grey, coiffed or balding
Not one of us possessing clues.

 In career of singing songs
I cannot help but relate
For in the face of sheerest apathy
I die a little this way.


Will Livingston said...

Pilot approved. Strong work, Eric.

Most people don't realize you actually have to pull the O2 line which pulls the pin in the oxygen generator to start the flow of O2. Just because you see a mask hanging in front of you doesn't mean there is O2.

ERiC PETERS said...

Will, thanks.

I had no idea you were a luthier. Beautiful instruments! Hope I get the chance to play/hear one some day. Are yours available anywhere to try out?

Jennifer said...

I love this. And I love that I'm not in an airplane while reading it. :)