you pee in the sky
but when you try to sleep
in the sky

a cushion of air
yawns underneath you
into the abyss

you eat in the sky
your tray meal so brief
you chew over

text on the box
of “Monty’s Chicken
& Thyme Hot wrap”

made in South Godstone UK
its palm oil more than
its chicken (16%)

and while in the sky
as you stare at your screen
a cartoon paper bag

mourns its mate blown
ever closer to the vapour
of a vast paper-pulp vat

if you read in the sky
ink’s straight route shivers
above the clouds

if you’d like to talk in the sky
seatmates gawk at the void
past the wing

so little chicken
confined high in air
you wait for the sky to fall