Friday, April 8, 2011


Here's a poem that my friend Pat Lewis, an award-winning children's poet, sent me the other day. Pat is generous about sharing his poetry with us bloggers.


By J. Patrick Lewis

His wand wends its way under my arms,

legs and back. At my groin, it suddenly

keens like a crazed buzzard about to eviscerate

a gazelle. The TSA guard, which I’m told

stands for Total Sensitivity Awareness,

suggests, “Remove your belt, sir.”

My belt, love, my criminal cinch

with the TH for Tommy Hilfiger

metal buckle. But even after the belt’s gone,

the wand won’t let up.

Beow, beow, beow, beow.

I’m ordered into a sunglassed chamber,

asked to lower my Fruit-of-the-Looms.

Oh, babe, here’s where it gets good.

You would have been so proud of me

when I showed them just how little

a threat I am to national security.

If only you had been there, darling,

you could have assured them

they needn’t have bothered.


  1. ::choke::

    As funny as the poem is, the reality is pretty sad - especially in light of the fact that one of my favorite actors/authors was down-the-pants groped at the LAX just yesterday. I was distressed on his behalf. People talk a lot about women being upset over this, but it's upsetting to any human being...

  2. Tanita,

    Air travel sure isn't what it used to be. I was fortunate on my trips to and from Florida last fall when I went to NCTE. I didn't get wanded or patted down.

  3. Yikes! I'm going to make sure I steer WAY clear of LAX.

  4. Alas! The filthy rich 2%ers only think along the whorizontal, thus, the trickle-down-effect happens to U.S. don't be that way, girl. Wiseabove. Overcome. Be a part of Heaven. We all must answer to Jesus someday, miss beautiful, whetha you wanna or not... and we only have 77ish years to do it in. My suggestion? Don't think how much the liberals hate the republicans (alla ploy, a botched facade to pit the people against each other so there'll be riots and anarchy). That's gits old fast; rather, think of Jesus and how you're gonna stand before Him to explain what YOU have done with your finite existence. Meet me Upstairs, miss gorgeous, and be at peace.