In the Clear Blue Sky
by Brendan Strong
6 am, Dublin airport
There is an hour to go.
I would have been here at 5
But for the car, overheating.
Here they all are again, Passengers:
- Drinking coffee
- Reading books
- Window shopping
- Staring at suspended monitors
- Drinking beers and wines and gins and tonics
- Arguing about the time to gate
And looking insufferably bored.
And yet, we are all to be launched
Above the quotidian cares and clouds: up there!
Thousands of feet into the clear blue sky.
Stumble on, I say, to the gate
Drink some coffee there, instead of here
That way, you get over the fear
Of being flight-missing late
(Few fear being “presumed late: missing
From the flight
That tumbled to the ground
From thousands of feet
In the clear blue sky”).
One hour later:
The roar of tyres on tarmac
(People’s eyes closing, from:
- The motion
- The matte plastic everywhere
- High-oxygen air conditioning
- The care-worn voices of pilot and stewards of The Air)
And we are flung
Outside, everything in changing scales
In here, everything stays the same, except your ears.
The rattle of the rain increases
The clouds down below
You hear a whine and a crunch, maybe even a screech
Always seem to come from under your seat
(I hope the engines don’t overheat)
What if we all stopped believing?
Flung up here, in the clear blue sky
I fall asleep once I am sure
Those solid clouds can break our fall.