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A poem written on a plane.

I write this poem,

High up in the sky,

Swiping through photos,

Trying not to cry.

Asian fella next to me,

Asks if I’m feeling all right,

Not a bother on me boy,

Few glasses of gin before the flight.

Home is where the heart is,

And all that craic,

Australia’s a great place,

But there’s nothing like being back.

The belly is still full,

From all the mother’s cooking,

Auld lad kept me up to date,

On how the Junior team is looking.

At the cousin’s wedding,

Caught up with all the fam,

Atrocious dancing on the D-floor,

YMCA was my jam.

The dog is barking less,

Napping and snoring more,

The nephews have gone so grown-up,

Much taller than before.

The boys in Bolands,

Were in fine form,

Lashed rain most days,

But still fairly f*ckin’ warm.

Turbulence doesn’t wake the Asian fella,

The seatbelt light turns on,

I sip gin from a plastic cup,

Another trip home has come and gone.