Three Hours to Go Time
Sleeping on the plane
It sounded like a good idea at the time
Leave at 11, arrive at 7, that’s
Most of eight hours
If you don’t account for daylight’s savings time
And the fact that no one on the green Earth
Can ever sleep without drugs on a fuckin’ plane
So I’ll
have a day of sleepwalking in
Before spending two more sleeping peddling wares
A writer shouldn’t have to stoop to such madness
It’s anathema to the very being and some rad whoredom
Everyone seems to perpetuate and somehow think okay
Regardless, there, over there, is some
Weird as fuck truck with a pole in the front
Sticking out about twelve feet
Being followed by a black man on a stubby cart
Screaming something, what?
Sweet Jesus, we’re on the runway!
Yes, most likely that.