Humor

My Traveler’s Pain
 
And, so, the odyssey began.
My Airport Pain is what it is called.
The pleasure of flying is almost gone,
Lost in the concourse sprawl.
 
But the discomforts begin even before that.
With the “no parking” at the curb.
Then there is the rotating door,
Designed to manage the herd.
 
Its rotation is meant to assist,
In moving travelers with ease.
But it seems to stall whenever I’m in it,
Slamming into my knees.
 
Inside the door, there is a space,
Packed with people from wall to wall.
PSA announcements fill the air,
With garbled call after call after call.
 
Of course, the check-in kiosks are dark,
No fast, self-service today.
And it seems as if everyone in the city,
Is trying to get away.
 
Baggage is stacked everywhere,
As travelers huddled in defensive groups.
Even the flight boards are ominously blank,
And finding help is like jumping through hoops.
 
The check-in lines are daunting,
And stretch back into the throng.
First Class promises quick service,
But today, everything is wrong.
 
Finally, after way too long,
Of standing in the First Class line,
A smiling agent welcomed me,
As if everything was totally fine.
 
She asked me all her questions,
And scanned my government ID.
She must have checked it three or four times,
I guess she couldn’t see.
 
Then my bag went on the belt,
And disappeared around the bend.
The baggage handlers now had my life,
It was on them I had to depend.
 
I had ordered a wheelchair for personal use,
To assist from the counter to the gate.
But, of course, that didn’t happen either,
So I sat down and began to wait.
 
What you’ve read is just the beginning of this travel story. The complete poem continues the journey in full. Purchase the full poem to continue reading.