MEATLOAF AT THE AIRPORT
I’m eating a late lunch at an airport,
at a restaurant named after a notable,
noted, well known chef
who deserves redundant adjectives
for the food is just that good.
Maybe it’s not the healthiest choice,
turkey meatloaf wrapped
in a thin slice of bacon,
mashed potatoes smothered
in a layer of light brown, turkey flavored gravy.
The meat loaf looked like it was gently placed
by gentle hands on top of the potatoes
while thin cut, brown coat onion rings
were sprinkled over the layered stack,
topped with one last spoon of gravy,
just a dripping from top to bottom.
I have prime seating, facing main concourses,
two in the afternoon, prime space,
prime time, prime people watching,
truly, it does take all kinds to make a world.
I peer at the large windows,
gazing outside, I see several planes
parked at several gates and I think:
it’s gonna be a long ride