It’s funny – you wait forever for a moment
like this, but you’re never quite sure what to
do when it arrives. Should you stand up and
make yourself known? Or should you lean
back in your seat, close your eyes and pretend
to be asleep? This is supposed to be a holiday
after all; why ruin it with work? Or perhaps,
in signing up for this job, you took an ethical
pledge to make your skills available whenever
needed, whatever the circumstances. You’re
only a Junior Poet, though – surely, among all
these people, there will be one or two who are
better qualified than you, for a situation like this?
But what if that’s not the case? A Junior Poet
must surely be better than no Poet at all. And what
if it’s a baby, in desperate need of a rhyme? Or
an elderly person who won’t be able to catch
their breath without a little cinquain? You twiddle
your ring as your licence thrums on its chain.
Yes, you think. Yes. Yes there is a Poet on board
this plane. Here I am. How can I be of service?
