Palmerston North Airport

Thoughts waiting at Palmerston North Airport – like many of my poems, this was written while waiting during my travel times.    

Don’t Panic, Take-off
seem phrases appropriate
to waiting
to be called to a gate
for a plane.

Different visions
occupy boredom
like idle hands
seeking work.
Take off, what?
My coat, my underwear
And tell the guy in the next seat
Don’t Panic

Madness is mental
not really catching
Fear of it is different.
That would reach past
the rows of chairs
Facing squares of pane,
Reflecting well-ordered
well-behaved
unmeeting glances.

Evening falls catching
dark glasses
propped debonairly
above a hairline.
Preoccupied with a laptop
this guy very nearly
does look as if
he has something to do

Unlike the couple
who have plainly been together
much longer
than this waiting time.
Without words
the dance of habit
sits them side-by -side
ready to mind each other’s carry-on.

Only someone’s small son
sees the airfield.
Hear his voice
above the air-con drumming
See his eyes
avidly looking beyond
his mother’s fond regard.
His heart is winging beyond the glass
ready, oh so ready,
for take-off.

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