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.

 

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