Summer Holiday

Looking up you think sometimes you can see
People's faces smiling back down at you
From aeroplane windows, that full of glee
Of dreams of beaches and the blue-green hue
Of gentle coves, they almost mock
Because you're stuck in your few square feet of space
And you awake one morning, with the bitter shock
That this day, and the next, will eachother chase
In an endless, pointless race.

Looking up you think sometimes you could climb
On a ladder of mist, and even though the plane
Had long since gone, its contrail, crusty with a rime
Of ice, still meandered like a country lane
Through fields of air, and you could follow
Even as the wind rips it to shreds
And the cities below still wallow
In life's smoky haze