The Business Traveler

I set my alarm like I work on a farm
– I just can’t afford to be late
to embark on my tour to the airport de jour
and the gauntlet from here to my gate.

On arrival, I find – the security-line
would take me an hour or more
if my premium-clout didn’t shorten my route
with a special executive-door.

It’s one subtle perk for people who work,
– where flying is part of the game,
where the passenger-scene is a daily routine
and we know the attendants by name.

I’m running behind when I get through the line
so I hand him my pass and ID,
he gives me a look like I’m some kind of crook,
like the picture I gave – isn’t me.

I drop my effects at the hurdle that’s next –
that stands between me and my flight,
where baggage is screened through an X-ray machine
for weapons and things that ignite.

I know I must lose my computer and shoes
and my toothpaste is viewed as a threat
that the screeners will snag if it’s not in a bag
– ‘cause I’m told it could bring down a jet.

They get so annoyed when I opt to avoid
being nuked with a microwave scan,
so instead, to comply – I get groped by a guy
who delivers a wedgie by hand.

When the fondle is through – I put on my shoes,
I pick up my bags and my phone,
then put on my belt, near the place I was felt –
for soon they’d be calling my zone.

The veteran team will always convene
before any boarding begins,
we’ll line up and wait – to be first through the gate
for the coveted overhead bins.

It’s always a treat when I get to my seat
and it isn’t a window or isle –
but a seat in-between one who loves his cuisine
and someone’s dysfunctional child.

Whenever I get on a passenger-jet,
I’m reminded of times long ago,
when food wasn’t sold and bags didn’t roll –
the luggage was stowed down below.

A renaissance-time when the seats would recline,
even those in economy-class,
when the space we were dealt – let you dig for your belt,
without touching somebody’s ass.

It seems like a joke – in the past you could smoke
and lighting a fire was okay,
but these days, the crew will bid you adieu
if you don’t power-down when they say.

The attendants who served, were not as preserved
and maybe a little less rude,
they were closer to teens than millennial-queens
– and far more enticing when viewed.

When flying is done – more for work than for fun,
when it’s part of your chosen career
and the status you hold is platinum or gold
‘cause you fly every week of the year –

If you constantly brood over miles you’ve accrued
and an upgrade means more than a raise,
or you’re always in pain due to broken-down planes
and those pesky departure-delays.

If over-night trips eating pretzels and chips,
wearing headphones that cancel-out noise
and vertical-naps with a pillow that wraps
makes the list of your favorite joys –

Then this one’s for you, and all that you do –
for keeping the airlines afloat,
‘cause flying’s a curse that will only get worse –
you’re better off taking a boat!