Late flight at Terminal 1 poem

Late flight at Terminal 1

The rush has left,
The terminal is asleep.
Only the murmur of the air conditioning;
And the hushed chatter of the human mislaid,
Disturb its slumber.

The public flotsam gathers amongst the seats.
Mounds of clothes in the attitude of sleep.
Lost souls who’ve missed their connections,
Wait out the early hours;
In the empty terminal.

Swaths of linoleum floor,
Stretch empty into the polished distance,
Dotted with mortal monoliths,
Arms folded in impatient waiting;
For the late B914.

The buzz of chatter;
And increased excitement,
As Landed, arrived and baggage in hall;
Show on the arrivals board.
Reunions soon.

The arrivals doors are willed open;
In eagerness of glimpses of loved ones.
Joyful shouts as Challengers are spotted.
Tearful hugs and kisses;
As the wait is over.


A poem by a member of World Challenge staff meeting a World Challenge team coming back from expedition in the summer of 2010.