Some advice sought:

1. How's the structure?
2. Is erratic line length a bother?
3. Can I get away with using second person? (or do I just overuse you instead of I, Doug?)
4. Should I excise my wife?
5. Anything else?


Sleepstaking on high

Here's how it can pan out if you 
go head to head with a blonde.

Looks like you've lucked in. 
En route from Zurich to Singapore,
you and your wife score two connecting window seats
but right opposite in the aisle, there they are: 
FOUR consecutive aisle seats, vacant.

1. Pre-game manoeuevres

On your last trip, you'd been diddled. You can't make a move 
until the seatbelt sign goes off, your wife said.
But someone did.
And the prime four were snatched up 
and stretched out upon, before you could raise a gaze.
This time, you move early, 
click your seatbelt on in seat one in the aisle possy.
Just as well. Hovering to descend, from behind,
a claiming cardigan ready to drop over the top.
Your bum hits first. The hand withdraws.
Set. 
But you can't lie down and spread out on all four seats yet,
even when the seatbelt sign flicks off -
cabin lights are still on; there'll be a meal to withstand first. 

2. Game on

But before your tray is cleared, 
SHE is there. 
A twenty, perhaps thirty-something blonde
at the other aisle end of your virgin four,
flicking through a Cosmopolitan. 
Your eyes meet briefly. 
Neither side acknowledges or withdraws.
After tray clear, you look left again and she's down. 
Upped the middle arm rest and her neat golden curls 
rest on two pillows up against the middle armrest.
You're halved. Quadruple empire reduced to a paltry double.
You consider proposing a parlay:
Fair do's. With ten hours ahead, 
you could offer to return to your legit seat
and she have the first five hours fully stretched, 
You'll take the second watch, you could say.
But your wife will have none of it.
She's liking her twin paradise.
So you enter the field of fray.
Head to the other side of the middle armrest
on your own double pillow stack and curl up 
so your feet do not to the aisle protrude.

You last five minutes. 
Ridiculously uncomfortable,
you spring up and consider new options. 
If you lean back and splay your legs obliquely
you are clearly occupying space and it is less constricting. 
Just so you are both aware however, you plonk 
your shoulder bag and undone crossword
on the seat adjacent to you. No territory conceded.
Then the skewiff position becomes untenable
so you straighten up in your aisle row seat
but casually add your headphones to seat two
after watching a French film about a street fighter
who gets the tripe beaten out of him and his girl 
who loses her lower legs to a killer whale.
Trifles. 
Your head turns only to see that  
a surreptitious move has been made. 
The seat divider is up and yes,
there is definitely head creep
over the mid-line. But it's subtle:
none of your deposits have been touched. 
A bird's eye would show she now occupies nearly two-thirds.
You effect a bit of side splay again so one leg stretches straight ahead;
the other slightly bent under the adjacent seat. 
Then you drift off, desultorily.

3. End game

After what can only be minutes
you awaken and glance left. 
She's gone. Nothing
but stacked blankets
and idle pillows.
Your chance. 
You stretch out fully
occupying the full four seats. 
It is only just bearable. 
Your shoulder is scrunched,
the seat belts bite into your side
and the seat dividers don't flatten fully. 
Still, you fit.
Until the cabin lights come blaring on.
Breakfast time. 

Unpacking your hand luggage from the overhead cabins,
you snatch a glance across the Rubicon aisle seats.
She's already collected her hand luggage
and is waiting on her side to disembark,
hair wisps perky,
radiating refreshment.
With nary a backward glance,
the wordless encountress leaves you in her blonde wake.