The sandwiches made with love
\nTo comfort on this long, strained flight
\nI’ll never eat.
\nThe mad rush to get the bags,
\nTo stand in line sullen and weary
\nIn shoeless feet, pockets empty,
\nAnd I forget, standing staring nowhere,
\nAt the motionless bags before me,
\nThe other shuffling lines of security’s counterfeit.
\nI forget, until the wallet rejoins its license,
\nAnd slides into its pocket,
\nAnd the shoes, plucked from their gray barge
\nThrough the x-ray underworld, regain my feet.
\nWith unwonted forlorn sunken sighing,
\nI remember
\nThe brown paper sack with two sandwiches,
\nA bag of chips and trail mix,
\nAnd extra trail mix, in case my father
\nWants extra nuts
\nSitting on the floor of the van
\nForgotten
\nIn the mad rush to grab the bags.<\/p>\n
As the safety video blares unwatched
\nBracketed by the homily of the airline’s CEO
\nAnd an even louder ad for a car,
\nMy knees against the middle seat before me
\nI miss those sandwiches
\nAnd miss you more
\nHomesick before we even leave the gate.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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, … <\/p>\n