







I dedicate this poem to those who genuinely believe they can beat the line getting off a plane. There’s an argument to be made that you should be on the no-fly list. Until that happens, I’ve decided to, once again, channel my anger in the form of poetry.









Plane Sprinter

I feel a bump, a rumble, and wake up from my nap

The plane has landed, we’re alive, a few assholes clap

Behind me, I hear the frantic unbuckling of a seatbelt strap

Fuck, it’s one of those dickheads who rush off the plane ASAP.





The plane parks, the man gets up, grabs his bags and runs

He makes it 3 rows, hits the line; So, the fuckery has begun

It was bad enough that the plane was 100 degrees from the beating sun

Now I have this guy next to me because of the race he nearly won.





He’s right next to me with his sweaty balls all up in my face

I very sarcastically say, “How does it feel to come in 108th place?”

He looks down, clearly confused, so I decide to rephrase,

“What the fuck were you thinking when you decided this was a footrace?”





He’s noticeably timid; his awkwardness is on full display

He’s ignoring me, but he’s stuck in line and can’t run away

I keep chirping him, and finally, he turns to say,

“To help those anger problems, may I recommend church on Sunday?”





Wait…the fuck did this guy say to me?

Did he just try to flip this as if I’m the one guilty?

You’re the guy who tried sprinting off the plane like an escapee

And you’re trying to act like I’m president of this Idiocracy?





I don’t even argue; I try to let it go, I’m not going to be a dick

I channel my inner Roosevelt, speak softly, and carry a big stick

I take a breath and come up with an alternative plan

One that will ruin the entire day of this holy man





As we exit the plane, I make sure to whisper to the steward

What I prefer to refer to as, a tiny little rumor

I told her he had a bomb and to call a trooper

You might think that’s fucked up, but I love me some dark humor.





I follow him to see what’s about to transpire

Deep down inside, I hope this guy is a crier…

“GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND BEFORE WE OPEN FIRE!”

Oh, fuck yeah, this is way better than any sexual desire.





He gets arrested, looks up, and what does he see?

Your boy, laughing, so he knows it was me.

I walk up and tell this Usain Bolt wannabee,

“God has a reason for everything; that’s why you’re the detainee.”





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