air port

Airports are marsupials holding us
in pouches for traveling down a
destination within a destination.
Is this a host for parasites?
Or a birthing canal spitting out decent humans
for future flights?
Humans carry the luggage to the temple of
the mechanical birds, the
conveyor belt is a strongman
that shoves the people and luggage
to another portion of its own body.
Escapism is an easy sale,
everyone wants to ride the iron winged
mammals of the sky.
Humans get weighed by what they carry,
weighted by what they left behind.
Reality changes in airports. It has various new laws; you can get drunk, just not too drunk.
You're scanned with x ray radiation but, please sir, no radiation on the plane...
Airports have their own country song about lost love, a last kiss, broken moments, strands of convenient behavior.
Patsy Cline, Buddy Holly, victims of airplane pop star crashes, John Denver, Aliyah.
Mechanical birds fly so fast, blurring its passengers' skin with time and gravity. Lagging the skin, flustering the body, taking its toll.
Glamorous Jackie-O armies descend from the aircraft with shiny ebony sunglass smiles.