Airport Poem 2: First-Class Poem
The air is rarified here, and someone is always asking
if you want more. Is your heart full? Can we fill it for you?
Even the ice cubes in my cocktail are nonstop.
Please take this hot towel and wipe away your pain.
Would you like to see the cockpit? We’ve turned it
into a greenhouse. If you’re seated in an exit row,
we’ll let you fly the plane. Have a Denver omelet
over the Midwest, because in Denver
they’re just omelets. Our complements.
All noise, pollution, poverty, sickness, and death
have been cancelled. You can keep your tray table
in the unsafe and downright position at all times.
In case of emergency, the oxygen masks are filled
with nitrous oxide, but not to worry—the rescuers
are trained to save you first.