Flight to Scotland

Up, before I went to bed
The minicab lurched from street to street
London City Airport – my Nigerian evangelist driver
Did his best, to get inside my head.

The airport bustle – sad termites
Their thoughts silently screaming
Most waiting –bored
Hunched over their stodgy croissants.

My bloated case, dragged to security
Watchful suspicious eyes, wishing excitement
Deemed me wanting
In my naïve – purity.

Arms out – patted down like a dog
hand scanned waste band, socks and shoes
Disappointment, palpable
Found – not a probable.

A slothful old plane propelled
Waiting, with its empty belly
Ready to engorge my innocents
The runway eventually, ready.

Above the soft white cotton wool clouds
My thoughts long drifted
The time that shifted slow
Scottish highlands my journey’s end.

This entry was posted in Autobiography, Poetry, Travel and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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