There was once upon a time
When you would have landed
Across from me in the airport
(Or maybe that was your mom)
Rather than choosing to face
A golfer-looking guy in his twenties
Wearing a paving company shirt
Maybe owning it, but all you knew
Was he was more palatable
And he likely gets a kick out of
The 800 color streaks in your hair
Your lack of commitment
Juxtaposed by a written
Tattoo that isn’t as easy to explain away
As a heart and some initials.
Philosophy on your shoulder,
Making me want to ask,
Assuming it’s not any more
Important to mankind than the blonde
Sporting rock or floral or fishbone
Images on her arm. At least pictures,
A self-inflicted charm bracelet
Arm massacre. And now, cursive
As she turns away, so that makes two
Girls composing verse from bicep
To clavicle to ensure onlookers honor
Their twenty-plus years of vast experience
So wise that printing it for all to see
Was the obvious choice.
And don’t worry, ladies, your moms
Never sat across from me on purpose
Around the time your parents began their descent,
Leading to your need to give me
Something to read. Wondering if I
Should provide others the same
Diversion before boarding
A side note not printed eternally
On a college girl’s neck
Is that everyone will try to charge a device
At an airport plugin station
This is sad since only one in the area works
And i found it an hour ago.
All others plug in, move on,
And repeat, again and again.
All seeing I have my device plugged in,
But also somehow seeing more in me.
Or is sharing a plug too intimate, left for tattooed
Girls and the guys they meet with mating
Words written on their backs
And suddenly little else matters
When I realize the boarding pass
I've been staring at all day
Says I'm finally in boarding group A
After getting accustomed to B's and C's
Like some kid with addhdcd
But last time they let active military,
Young families, old folks, the disabled,
And perhaps a few more sub-groups
Like lesbian truck drivers over 35
Board before me.
But I stopped counting, only hoping
No one would have to drag me off
The flight kicking and screaming
For my lawyer and the press
Then an airplane with a coat of arms
Paint job gets me to wondering
(as I see an obvious active duty
Military man eyeing my seats
Who also has a coat of arms
Lion tattoo on his calf)
Wondering what would happen
If war was declared and our
Airliners became bombers
Retrofitting to rain destruction
On Canada or Venezuela,
Cheap Samsonite bags filled
With more TNT than an AC/DC concert
If it ever gets to passenger jet
Bombing raids, I suppose that would
Signal the end of civilization
As we know it, though it's likely
A southern gentleman said something similar
And I wonder what his conclusion
Would be of defending the honor
Of my inked fellow passengers
Or would he ask about the content before deciding
To chide, deride, or perchance guide
Then there's more: the 40+ sexy stu
Who has Stephanie (from middle school) and Madonna's
1987 long-sided blonde ambition,
Me wondering if it's changed and
Come back or just always been there,
Like snacks on an airplane
Gets me to wondering if asymmetrical
Hair provides three decades of
Comfort to its owner
And if any male in the
History of penises
Has ever pulled it off
For more than one styling cycle
Assuming that's a thing
Like pure energy, rodents
Of unusual size, or purple rain.