Airport

Delays
that stretch into compensation,
you hold my hand
though elsewhere.
Anxious skin cast off,
I revel in acting out
my own private existence.

We are unrelated now,
but you talk me through
this new stage of life –
the father at the birth.

Four hours overdue,
I am made airborne;
the tinny, man-made phallus
penetrates the heavens
and the depths of me.

We are unrelated now,
but you fall perpetual victim
in your acceptance of
the moments I dispense,
when, how, where I dispense them.

There is no ‘Stop’ button.
No room
for those who would come home again,
forgetting silly notions of independence.
I search for you.

We are unrelated now,
but you are always
my first thought in fear.