I didnít mean to wear these lace-up boots,
forgot I had to take my shoes off, forgot
this trip from Washington to California
would take six additional hours standing
in line with sweaty armpits, stinky feet,
and threats of prongs into sensitive areas.
Search my medications, cross-examine me
for hours, this search callous against
my being by guards with power-ons.
They earn minimum wage, want a gun
to do their job well. So shot me,
a terrorist traveler carrying my threat
to humanity, a bottle of water.
This plane might blow up from my combustible
organic hair shampoo and conditioner.
And my underwear, it has the power
to strangle you. My nail file, emery board,
and clipper have designs to hold you hostage.
So back off, I will curse up a hell-fire.
This airplane will rise into that toxic
radiation level at risk of hijack, it may never
reach its destination, but my carryon
has big plans to get me where Iím going fast
when I get off this plane.