Black Ink Words

And so it begins
The endless wait
At the heavily guarded
Airport gate

Maybe I should have
Brought a novel
Or a magazine
To thumb through

Silently, make believe
That I was actually
Interested in the
Black ink words

But like the man
Sitting next to me
With the fresh newspaper
Its only to pass appearances

And make it seem like he
isn't as bored as me
When it's worse, because
now he's $1.50 short

Because if it weren't for the sports pages
Diverting his eyes, he'd have to look into the air
At the strangers passing by
And no one likes eye contact

The painted faces
Blonde, cotton candy hair
Melonball handbags
And dry cleaned suits

A world I will never know
Or would want to
Why would I?
I am drowning in vintage

Or I just call my ripped jeans and
Peasant top that to make
Me feel
More cosmo retro

Who dresses up for the airport?
Not me? Why me? Whose me? Couldn't be.
This seat is uncomfortable
And this lady smells like french fries.

Waiting, waiting, only to see
Starbucks freaks, wireless geeks,
businessmen posers, suck up nosers,
rockstar glam, and fat, tourist hams.

And I hear the shiny group behind me
Reassure the newbie, "You'll love Austin
We see McConaughey and Bullock
All the time."

"And if it weren't for the college kids
It'd be the perfect town. --
Oh, and do you still watch Hollywood Squares?
My sister was on there and won
A bunch of washers and dryers...."