Salted Snail - The Commute of the FiFo

Like salted snails, clandestine and reflective we crowd,
In lingering queues, making the exchange,
Belongings weighed, conveyored they go,
Issued ticket, folded and safely stowed,

Time and announcement awakes a standing sleep,
Herded again to board the bird,
Tight pressed, abrasive arms, obese among us becoming space stealing sinners,

The settling in for flight begins.

Groaning, the ship ascends all souls speeding alive,
Then thrown, gasp paused,
Deep we penetrate the crisp morning night.

I sleep.
He snores.
She sighs.

Red raw earth, cut deep,
Fashions a jigsaw pose,
To span on and steal the void,
All in earnest amongst cloudless sky,

Duck dive, pop the drums to distract gathering thoughts,
Clumsy landing softened by a thundering crawl,
No newspaper reads ‘air disaster’…. Jackpot!

Pockets chime.
Belts click.
Spines crack.

Hastening to disembark, into the out we step,
Shading sight with safety glass,
The early morning, glowing like welding rod,

Everyone in swift purpose, abandoning empty conveyor,
Mislaid stragglers remain, thumbing through contacts,
Silently frantic.

Next meeting here it’s homeward bound,
NO LONGER THE SALTED SNAIL!

Reviews

[Pickletheplacid]

Thanks for the review Samuel.

I was doing a fly in fly out role for a mining company a while back. Catching the early 5am every other week to Port Hedland, WA.
Its scorching hot up North, stepping out the plane into a furnace and bright as all hell, you had to wear glasses.

[Samuel Dickens]

You really (s)nailed it, this crowded flight to somewhere. The comparison of morning to a glowing welding rod is unusual but quite imaginative.