As for now, I’m tired and worn
And I am lost with little hope,
So on my holidays I go,
To ski my way down the slippy slope.
In the aeroplane I fly,
Watching all the birds spin by,
And the hostess calls my name:
“Mister Taurus Gemini”.

She looks my way with purple eyes,
And wears a dress of yellow silk,
With ‘Danish Airways’ on her chest,
She brings to me a glass of milk:
“But I asked for cyanide,
To knock me out and make me doze.
Until this dreaded flight is done”
She says with a smile: “We don’t do those.

“We value our customers way too much
To knock them out with cyanide.
We’d tried it once, it did not work:
The poor old sod just screamed and died.”
I, wiser now can see her point,
So will not put my life to risk,
And take her milk like golden silk,
And mix it with electric whisk!

Over the plane my milk does fly,
And angry faced the people shout:
“You ugly man, we hate you so,
At three miles up we’ll throw you out
And watch you screaming to the ground,
And see your blood erupt, volcano-like,
And wipe the milk from every seat,
And stab your bags with an iron spike.”

These angry people are my friends,
But the hostess is the best.
I call her “Missy” with a wink,
And watch her walk with calm unrest.
She sways her hips and comes to me,
To save me from the people mad.
She says to them: “Don’t throw him out,
He’s really not so very bad.”

She winks at I and then strips bare,
To loud applause from all the men,
Except for me, I stare agape,
I shut my eyes then open again.
There she stands , bare as before,
With all her clothes strewn on the floor,
And round she dances like the sea,
And I feel like the sandy shore.

When her dancing is complete,
She’ll sing to us a lullaby,
To make our flying feel discrete,
And soothe us as the clouds float by.
Then she’ll drift off, dress back on,
Along the aisle and up the stairways,
And I’ll tell my friends back home:
“Now if you fly, take Danish Airways!”


© 2000 Matt Everett