Laid Over in Paris-Charles de Gaulle

All through the night
He is drilling and hammering
the concrete of the terminal
in an orange hardhat
chisel and an iron pick
He is smoking cigarettes
under a wall of glass
watching the taxi rank
He is in the beast's bowels
somewhere on the 1st floor
with a blowtorch,
with a circular saw
sending rain of sparks
against the back wall,
out-brief-candles ―
He is pacing slowly
past the flickering lights
of the departures board
with a Steyr automatic
cruising down the escalator
in a ghostly dream

with the gun quietly there
in His hands

He is cleaning turbines
with black gloved hands

He is on the runway,
holding wands of semaphore ―

Travellers crashed out
in the abandoned cafe
move in their sleep ―

Someone watching over