Flying on for eight hours now.
London to Los Angeles.
Plenty of miles to go.
Captain made this trip a hundred times.
His bus in the sky.
No problem.
A snitch.
Auto pilot one.
Meal on lap,
when the crosswind hit.
More than turbulence.
Passengers petrified.
Screams seeping through
the security non-terrorist door.
This was a hijacker of another kind.
Mother Nature’s wraith.
Don’t doubt the danger of this woman’s scorn.
Actions in natural reaction.
He was the pilot on auto taking control.
Pulling his bus out of swerve and skid,
to smooth out on gentler winds.
He lifted the microphone,
in caressing tones eased travellers fears.
Then switching the intercom to private and
spoke to one of his delicious but rattled cabin crew.
“Amanda, I’m awfully sorry.
I’ve been a terrible dolt.
Any chance of a new meal.
I dropped my tray in that tiny jolt.”
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