Coming Home - A Poem

The west coast of Wales disappears in cloud
The Irish seas are frothing at the bit
In and out of consciousness
The acoustic assault starts
Cabin Crew take your seats!
Waking from a fluctuating comas
Ears ringing -Deadened by neck spasms
A living rigor mortis
Pulling the buckle a little tighter
Anticipation and excitement mixed with fearful expectations,
Grey skies replacing the old aqua blue,
Fluffy white clouds,
The flash of green,
Flickering like a faulty flat screen
Cows and walls become visible,
Eyes watering
Ears popping
Thud, and roar,
Streaming rain on the window
The end of one journey-the beginning of another
Freshness,
Freckle faces,
Duffle coats and hoodies,
Baggy trousers and soaking shoes,
Windy roads,
Silage and slurry,
The nod of the head,
The flicker of the finger,
Drops dribbling down the window screen,
Double parking,
The sprint from the car,
The crowd huddling under the lentil,
Sucking and puffing every bit of nicotine like human ventilators
Smoke wafting through the pub door  
In a jostle with an imaginary front row of heat and moisture
Misting your vision
Leaving only unpopped ears to guide you forward
Towards the friendly banter
The accents 
Is it yourself Mick?
Home at last.

Siochru