Going Home

On a bus somewhere
Between plastic hotel and concrete airport,
In a time zone that decrees I should be awake
When I really want to sleep.
The driver moans about this and that;
The lack of opportunity, the high level of crime:
The usual stuff.

 On a plane to somewhere
Between plastic breakfast and concrete dinner,
Time zones slip by as I try to sleep,
But my mind is confused and my body too big.
The passenger next to me moans about this and that;
The lack of space, the airline food:
The usual stuff.

Aircraft changes, flight delays,
An eternity in airport lounges;
Finally home.
A welcome kiss and hug,
“Did you bring presents?”
A good night’s sleep in my own bed.
It’s good to be home to
The usual stuff.