64. Leaving on a jet plane

Tomorrow is the Crossing. We leave from Paris, to Reykjavik, to New York, and then plonk down in sweet ol' Cackolack at midnight, local time. It'll be 6 am for us. Fun. But the journey itself reminds of all the great things about flying.

An airplane is a fine and private place,

ignoring all the other folks around.

But you've escaped, and now you float in space,

away from multitudes upon the ground.

It's true: it's close and cramped, and not too pampered.

That is, unless you get to fly First Class.

And any need to move around is hampered

unless you give someone the crotch or ass.

You cannot have a meal unless you've money

and willing their inflated price to pay.

It doesn't matter if it's dark or sunny,

a placid sky or one that's stormy grey.

There's still no quicker way to cross the world

excepting in a rocket, skyward hurled.