FLIGHT BA4793

Flying in towards Heathrow,
passing over our street.

From high up here in Hampshire airspace,
the distant landscape below

is carved by hedgerows and motorways
into a patchwork of fields

with miniature homesteads dotted
here and there, as if created

by Vincent's finest brush and pallet
on one of his less manic days.

Most of these are invisible by road.
Even the small towns, like Petersfield

and Liss, look so different from here -
more sprawling, less contained.

And I know you're down there somewhere.
Checking my watch, I realise

you'll be on your way to work by now.
So I strain my eyes for a glimpse

of your BMW speeding along the A3
among all those other tiny dots

snaking their way to London
to begin another day in the office

with it's deadline stresses that hourly shorten life.
And I wish you were here with me instead,

and we were young again and just married.
I could fly then, you know, without the need

for this huge silver bird to transport me to paradise.
It lived in my heart then,

when we held hands and gazed
into each others eyes...unlike today,

when my sole purpose for coming home
is to sign our final divorce papers.