A poem written while on a layover at the Mexico City Airport:
Humans not sheep
A whisper in the crowd
Yellow vests prod the people
Not individuals, but a mass
To follow policy is a must
And the rules say half the plane
Must fit on the bus
Planes line the tarmac
Too many for the gates
All the souls who paid full fare
Nothing to do but wait
Employees outnumber guests
But hospitality shall not be found
Intelligence is fleeting for those left on the ground
A dream of human flight
Created by the brothers Wright
Turned to flesh and regulated
TSA now haunts the night
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