Flight 3126

I ponder a poem
as I sit in my seat.
I clear up some flem
and fiddle my feet.

It's a quarter to five
til Flight 3126 leaves;
to tell you the truth,
I feel like Christopher Reeves.

Like a flock of damned sheep,
or a herd of damned calves,
we head in the same direction
but ba to ourselves.

I pick up my pencil
and let out a sigh.
He picks up his iPhone
and just wants to die.

And so the time has finally come
for us to all fly,
we close our eyes tightly
and pretend not to cry.

The voice of God is heard.
It's time for soul sorting.
"Attention," It says,
"We are now boarding."