Blasé about Air Travel

At breakneck speed, tin cans career
Through unpolluted atmosphere
To bring us to our tourist destinations.
Within the gap ‘twixt clouds and space,
They hurtle at a fright’ning pace
O’er territory governed by small nations.

And way below, without a qualm,
These foreign folk show no alarm
At all these ticking time-bombs o’er their houses.
While up above we yawn and stretch
And doze and stare and cry and retch
And re-arrange the folds within our trousers.