JM (28 04 75 / wallasey)

Unloved Lost Plane

Hardy battler, hardly bitter, despite being treated as machine
Metal mover, heard motion, momentum growing shudder
Rudder rover, over the blue, tantrum non throwing green
pasture passing landscape fleeing all seeing metallic gleam
There's a tear in his window or is it condensation in the air?
There's a sigh from his engine or is it an out of condition
motor?
One plane and his instruments being taken advantage of
by some cockpit dweller, a feller with a mission to move.
Guys' destinations matter. Planes desires do not matter
Anti matter. For that matter, planes also would like a pat
on the nosecone. And read thrilling stories about pilots and
planes
at promptly 5.32pm. A tickle under the wing, plane take
you under his white strong curved bird wing if you do.
A tray of his favourite biscuits and definitely no Aero
chocolate. He doesn't want to be reminded of his life
Fly me to the moon fly me fly me fly me fly me why me?
Why did I have to be born an unloved private plane?
Sleek and beautiful, a majestic sonic messiah arms outstretched
as if in Yoga poses. You never send me roses. Or kiss my nose.
You only worry about me if I malfunction and it threatens you
Pilot. You only maintenance so you can stick on your earpiece
and send messages over the airwaves to your cronies in buildings
and get to your Hangar in your beige chinos intact. I just metal.
Painted in colours I never chose. You still don't pat my nose
My engine's running whirr whirr I'm on Autopilot, depersonalised
From my aeroplane personality. Check my altitude my attitude
is one of a wounded romantic torn in two by an unreceptive lover
I soar while you snore. I fly while I cry a little. There is
a tear from my window, they dropp like pennies into a tearful sea
Splosh. Only you don't hear the tears. You just fly and look at
panels.

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