I had been warm and calm and comfortable, just one hour ago,
swaddled like a baby, high in the skies, in my aluminium cradle.
From LA to JFK, I had boozed and snoozed across the continental divide
until the thump of wheels on runway cleared my gin fogged head.

Driving north on Broadway, the billboards whispered to me in the darkness of the night.
No PowerPoint needed, they pitched their deal in compelling fonts of pink and neon,
their USP a fragile, desperate promise of intimacy amongst the city millions.
Leaving the rental in a parking lot I set off towards the brightness of the light.

A variation of this, entered in the March 2025 Hampshire Writer's monthly competition, which asked for something from an animal perspective that did not use the letter 'e' anywhere:

Just an hour ago, I was warm and calm and full of comfort, snug as a baby within a rug,

fat and dumb in my sky-high womb, uncaring in my aluminium skin.

From coast to coast, from LA to JFK, I had drunk my fill and caught my Zs.

Now, a thumping jolt signals my runway arrival and scours out my gin-foggy brain.

Driving north on Broadway, a host of billboards imprint capricious thoughts upon my mind.

From argon and krypton lights, hypnotic fonts of hot pink and hurtful crimson pitch dubious proposals,

vowing contracts of frail and flimsy bonds of implausibly strong intimacy –

an unjust propaganda to pacify a city’s millions.

I pull off into an anonymous downtown parking lot.

Tonight, but not too soon, I may find a Hilton.

For now, as a gust of wind sucks at my lungs and my chrysalis sloughs away its Avis cocoon,

I flit and thrash my way towards still distant lights, to quickly land and dip my wings in alcohol again.

Thus, my story plays out day by day – a road warrior,

no gun or sword, but just a laptop and my words,

cajoling, coaxing, smooching my transactions

but always knowing that I will not find my ease.

(I pmitted the last two lines for the competition).