TRIPPING.

If it’s breakfast
On the west coast,
As you approach
The east,
Then it must be lunch,
At least,
Or some lesser pleasantry
Introduced to bridge the edacity gap,

That’s assuming of course
That my watch
Is set correctly,
And my flight is right,
And neither of these
Are certainties
As I’ve never flown
This far before.

In fact
I’m not actually
Airborne now,
As I’ve just found out,
Having been awoken
By the soaking
Sheet,
That’s trapped my feet

And tipped me on the bedroom floor
As I tried
To find
The aircraft’s aisle,
So I guess I’ll go downstairs
And make some toast
And hope
My baby’s eating what she should be when I call.