Taxiing

The plane is
taxiing to the runway.
Engines humming
in the soles of my feet,
I smell bubble gum or
something; faux, fruity.
Take off.

Above the clouds,
I look down.
Land stands still.
Cruising on the horizontal,
air peels roughly away.
Blurring the lines,
we progress
at inhuman speed.

Window seat view,
I stare with morbid fascination
down a mile of empty air.
The world as we know it,
created, distant and miniature;
cars, trucks and buses.
It's easy enough to forget
just how small we are.


© 2009 N. Chaplin
All Rights Reserved