hungover and heavy with jetlag,
sandbags bound round your limbs.
leaning on the cart as the bags
hit the carousel, land akimbo,
then right themselves like
drunken hen night gals
falling off high heels
and prissily adjusting
you feel you’re on another planet
where sounds come muffled in cotton wool
and you move in leaden slow motion,
suppressing a rising panic while
sucked forever backwards
as if sinking in quicksand
in some old 70s show.
Photo from The Telegraph