DINNER IN THE LAND OF AIRPLANE
I went to the Land of Airplane to look for work.
They X-rayed my heart and my pockets for pistols.
The jets spewed Arabs in white burnooses.
They served the grownups the muscles of peasants.
I came to the town of Atlanta in the Land of Airplane.
They sold me Hare Krishna and plastic roses
and an offbrand Jesus and a greasy burger
washed down with a two dollar beer.
I knew a man that died in the Land of Airplane,
his heart packed in grease like an army pistol.
They hustled him down the stairs where the demons twittered,
and kids in Guatemala ate Big Macs that day.