Archive
01/17/11 - (2)
Shuttered
It's a bright-tailed, bushy-eyed Monday 11 a.m., in St. Louis, Another auspicious incipience of another capricious workweek, And yet, this airport is empty — a drowsy, scruffy mutt of a derelict. Where are all the hurly-burly business-class passengers And the tourists trafficking in getaway packages to Never-Ever Lands — Those who connect places, nations, micro- and macrocosmoses, By weaving their frequent-flier miles into a global-village double helix?
Nobody's going everywhere fast, in nervous, harried, hurried circles. The TSA is DOA, beneath its invasive-radiation haystacks. What catastrophe has happened, to collapse this Midwest city Once so modestly prosperous, feisty, scrappy, proud, Brought its commerce, clout to their rubber knees, with the dry heaves? Soon, Starbucks, Brooks Brothers, Wolfgang Puck will be shuttered, And the runways will return to the cemeteries they once were.
01/17/11 - (2)
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