Distress
All 200 of us, trapped on an airplane,
Strain to hear the steward’s safety instructions
Over the wail of a distressed child.
As we gain altitude, I can feel
The collective tension of all of us
Continue to rise.
Long after we are cruising
At 34,000 feet, the child’s wail continues.
There is something about the sound
Of a crying child in obvious distress
That has a profound effect on us.
We want to help.
We want to comfort.
We want quiet.
We want peace.
Trapped on an airplane at 34,000 feet
We want to have a single thought
That does not get drowned out
By the wail of a child in distress.
Roy W. Backes
© 2014
Roy W. Backes - Poetry 