It wasn’t the hijacker’s fault
or the meal of crackers
and warm water
or the cramped seat
and fear of DVT that made her
feel so knackered. It was
the flight attendant,
who fled first, still dapper
after 36 hours, no chips
in her lacquer, crisp uniform
immaculate slacker sliding
down the chute perfect
shoes touching down.
Resisting the urge to
smack her was the reason.

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