As though, marooned in an airport lounge,
Tallying swizzle sticks and membranous limes,
I were wasting myself on a binge.
And Muzak, I think, would smugly hum.
You have to wait, man, unreal, for shame.
Or words to that effect. But stranded in this bar
In similitude (actually, on the wagon)
I'd peruse clear bottles' labels and not hear
Piped-in subliminal slogans.
I'm waiting, like, for visitors out of the air.
You have to wait, man, unreal, for shame.
And the air's entirely, from where I sit, empty,
As if never from the clouds
Into this metaphysical airport would taxi
A plane transporting, among its airborne crowd,
Anyone remotely as sky-blue as Mother Mary.
You have to wait, man, unreal, for shame.
And as though, through inclement weather, no one came
From the real world to me in the terminal,
No heavenly arms to take me home,
As though all flights, I mean, had gotten cancelled,
I'm aground, like wrecked to Muzak, killing time.
You have to wait, man, unreal for shame.