Airports Testo

Testo Airports

I've flown too much this year.
There's a fear of weapons:
shoes and toothpaste, bottled water.

One flight was delayed by weather
when a fast summer rain did enough in Chicago...

Two brave planes hit each other;
the rest roll back to their gates
like soggy Cubs in Wrigley
who don't get to play.

What really does it take to get away?

Flooded Greeks on CNN fight Paris for airtime.
Starbucks sells itself.
There's music in my headphones,
American money in my wallet.
I've got some yellow-paper ideas
I've got to get off of the ground.

Some thoughts make it off of the tarmac,
finally airborne—departures, connections, returns.
What really does it take to get away?

In a sunnier terminal, I saw a bird stuck inside.
I picked out some lines to make a song—
they rhymed too much and ran too long.
So I scratch them out and scribble two new
and hope they keep me up this flight.

A power's born in the quick and free,
and it seems to get trapped in airports