The sandwiches made with love
To comfort on this long, strained flight
I’ll never eat.
The mad rush to get the bags,
To stand in line sullen and weary
In shoeless feet, pockets empty,
And I forget, standing staring nowhere,
At the motionless bags before me,
The other shuffling lines of security’s counterfeit.
I forget, until the wallet rejoins its license,
And slides into its pocket,
And the shoes, plucked from their gray barge
Through the x-ray underworld, regain my feet.
With unwonted forlorn sunken sighing,
I remember
The brown paper sack with two sandwiches,
A bag of chips and trail mix,
And extra trail mix, in case my father
Wants extra nuts
Sitting on the floor of the van
Forgotten
In the mad rush to grab the bags.
As the safety video blares unwatched
Bracketed by the homily of the airline’s CEO
And an even louder ad for a car,
My knees against the middle seat before me
I miss those sandwiches
And miss you more
Homesick before we even leave the gate.