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The poet and the cabin manager
Here is a piece I wrote on the plane on the way back from Lanzarote, for the cabin manager of my flight. He was one of the most gorgeous beings I have ever seen, and I had to write him a poem and give it to him written (with his own pen! what irony!) on an aeroplane napkin folded round one of my business cards. I think I might have terrified him... so here's the poem!

The poet and the cabin manager

A woman (dressed in black) sat in aisle 12 and cried.
You knelt down next to her and you stayed there: at her side –
You couldn’t stay for long. You had other jobs to do.
But the look you gave to her said her care for her was true.

I don’t know if she saw you in that moment as we climbed
Through the clouds to 30,000 feet. But sadness makes us blind.
I saw you and, most of all, how deeply kind you are.
I would have serenaded you if I could play guitar.

But I’m a poet, not a singer. This, you may have guessed.
And so, to you, in rhyme, I make this poetry request:

Mr Cabin Manager, Ottavio the kind,
There may be something here for the pair of us to find.
So please (I’m near to Gatwick) come have dinner with me soon.
And maybe it will turn out that we like each other’s tune.

Thursday 29th November 2012 ©Simon Welsh Poetry

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