The sleeping plane

A poem

suspended in the dark entirely

the plane is a long exhale

deafening to the naked ear

and inside the cabin, dim lights

hover over packed sleeping bodies

wrapped in warm blankets 

some appear nearly dead, still and wrapped in the dark

others twitch about like electrified frog legs

and a queue of noises can be heard

though only with a bit of attention

the soft creak of a chair, then the quiet rustle of plastic wrap

then a soft cough, then two voices murmuring illiterately

how soft everything is, in how dark

and empty a place; this tube of white noise paste

throttling at unimaginable speed in the dark

and in this warm aluminum bath

brief and stilted from the back of the dim cabin

a child screams