Dallas-Love on a Sunday afternoon

Dallas Airport Concrete
Originally uploaded by Chris Blanz.

I should be home
getting fat on wine
and routine.
Instead, I have been herded
into lines A then B,
poked and pushed,
overcharged, delayed,
expensed - yadda, yadda, yadda.

Everyone here looks fresh from a porn set, a Republican hootenany, a date rape and/or too many hours at the Nordstrom's make-up counter.

It's hard to feel real here, I guess.

It's supposed to be the great American adventure, right?
Every person is a fascinating story waiting to be told?
Beautiful in their own way?
One of God's children?

The only place I've found God in Dallas-Love
is in the pyramid schemes of the drunks behind me
spouting, "He's a Christain businessman."
He really cares about the people he is stealing from.
At least they got their dog and pony show.

In a land where nothing is sacred, we try to justify our greed
and then jam it down the throats of the unbelievers.
It's because we care.

I just got off the phone with my wife.
In her own way, she forgives me
for leaving
the house
a mess.


*I cheated a little bit on this one. I composed the poem at the airport today and found a pic to match after-the-fact.