Fear of Flying

I'm not fond of being up
in the air, above the clouds,
soaring in the so called
silver bird that speeds
through a gaggle of
fluttering geese. I think
of everything that can go
wrong, despite the wonderful
bag of nuts and soda that's
been provided, the inflight
magazine, chock full of
insightful tips and the top
notch films starring goldie hawn,
or snoop dogg, I am full
of doubt and fear. Of course
I admire and respect
the professionalism
of the attendants and crew,
so neatly attired in white
and blue, so starched
and proper, and yet still,
it's unnerving, the mere
mention of the fetal position
makes me want to go into
one and yet, that is what
one must do before the swift
plummet into the earth below.
They quickly train you on
how to exit down the slide,
and to inflate that orange
life preserver around your
trembling body, or the rubber
raft to float upon in an endless
ocean full of sharks and killer
whales, if you survive the impact
that is. I feel cramped
and helpless in the hands
of the captain. What if he
had a bad day, what if his
wife burned the toast just
that morning, what if
the mechanics had a wild night
out in a bar drinking tequila
with the captain's wife,
and forgot to tighten up that
one bolt that holds the whole
thing together. And just being
stuck in a metal tube, elbow
to elbow, breathing the same
fumes for hours on end with
complete strangers, or worse,
relatives with the flu,
the coughing, the sneezing,
the scratching of arms and
necks covered in welts. Not
to mention security,the removing
of shoes, the searching of bags
holding your very very personal
toys and what nots, the tags,
the x-ray machine, the long
walks from here to there
in a crazy zig zag of signs
and ramps, escalators and
moving sidewalks. No, keep me
on the ground, it's greyhound
for me, although those bus
stations are nothing to shout
about either. What's that puddle
I'm standing in and sorry, but
no, I don't have a quarter.