TSA: An Immodest Proposal

They hate our way of life, so they attack
Is what we're told, but seems to me the threat
Is more from our own overlords. Roll back
To feudal days; we shall be chattel yet!
A naked body scan or grope-down, just
Because one used his underpants last year
To fail to bomb a flight? There really must
Be nowhere that they'll stop to keep the fear
Alive and keep us feeling as bovine
As possible. Soon we'll fly in the nude
And have no baggage. We'll be told it's fine,
That clothiers in airports, wise and shrewd
Can sell us TSA-approved duds at
Our destinations, and that will be that!

Lines Written Circling Pearson International Airport

It's not good-bye, not anymore, not now

That Twitter keeps us well and truly linked,

I tell myself, yet fail to keep my vow

That I would never cry. As such, I blinked

Back tears when parting from my Paul at last.

I shall return next spring, and meanwhile there

Is much to start and finish. Art thoughts blast

My brain; creative mainlining and care

In choosing how we spent this visit means

The well is truly full; work beckons; we

Collaborate and have our own tasks. Scenes

From gleeful planning sessions, setting free

Our wild imaginations boost my cheer,

But I'll not see my loves until next year.

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Geeks In Flight

Sonneteer's note: this sonnet was composed on the afternoon of Wednesday, August 25 in the Cleveland airport, but a lack of wi-fi there prevented its being posted until now. Well, that and a Guinness-laden tweet-up and other adventures in Toronto.

An afternoon in Cleveland, fierce and bright

Outside these airport windows no one knows

Just who I am or why I'm here. I fight

The urge to howl "hello," see how it goes,

If anyone will answer, if I'll trip

Obsucre alarms and make a watch list, or

If someone else with time to kill who's hip

To what I dig will speak up. Hey, my score

In this regard is high; three on the plane

That brought me here from Denver talked sci-fi

With me at length, Ben Bova in the main,

But Stephenson and Gaiman, too! I sigh

Though. In Atlanta, coming home in May

I nearly missed a flight in just that way!

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In Which A Conspiracy Is Unmasked

Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab has
Done all of us a service; he's revealed
A further element of razzmatazz
That heretofore was cunningly concealed:
The TSA has always been in league
With those nefarious Underpants Gnomes.
The one to make us lie, cheat and intrigue
To wear, the others to steal from our homes
Our undergarments. First the little guys
Swipe what we have, then screeners take away
What we dare wear to airports. Then, surprise,
Once pantless at our destination, hey,
A posh airport boutique is there to sell
What we must simply hope was laundered well.

In Which I Find A Sliver Of Jack Kerouac's Denver On Concourse A

This airport bar reminds me just a bit

Of what an Amtrak bar car used to be.

Two random music guys happen to sit

Right down there on the barstools next to me.

The barmaid pushes local whiskey and

We try it, laughing at the tasting notes,

And Stranahan's would seem to be the brand

(Though a bit sweet, if 'mong the counted votes

Are mine -- it's like a highball, I would say

Though I knew not that Colorado streams

Ran clear with 7UP, but that's the way

The real world works -- far stranger than my dreams.

That's how good times occur with Steve and Wes.

One never knows what's coming up, I guess.

What I Wonder As I Wander Around Denver International Airport

Each time I come back home I have some time

To while away while waiting for the van

That is my last leg on this trail of grime

And squalor that gets me back to Cheyenne,

I wander the great teepee pile we call

The Jeppeson Terminal at DIA,

And wonder if there is among them, all

These other wand'rers, one whom I just may

Have met before or known or been flamed by.

I wonder, too, if anyone but me

Is list'ning to the kind of songs that I

Have pumping through my earbuds. There might be

A fan of Marian Call in this same bar!

Or of FZ or Bhtch tunes. How bizarre!