Parody is fun! Fans of Robert Service will recognize the rhythm and rhyme structure of “The Spell of the Yukon” in this humorous work. There is a wink to the knowledgeable, with a tip of the hat to Service’s original poem, in the last line of the second last stanza.
Airport Angst
Neil Harding McAlister
In the halcyon days of air travel
All the clients were treated like kings,
As below them the miles would unravel
While they soared on their magical wings.
Nowadays we get far less attention,
And they herd us like so many sheep,
Without even the slightest pretension
That our loyalty’s something to keep.
First contend with the traffic congestion;
Then get lost in the parking lot maze,
Where you’ll get not one helpful suggestion
From attendants who walk in a daze.
At the check-in you’ll line up forever
As the queue crawls one inch at a time.
You’re beginning to think maybe never
Will you get to the front of the line.
And you worry you’ll miss your connection:
In this line-up too long you have stayed;
But you’re sent in another direction
When they tell you your plane is delayed.
If your flight has been scrubbed by bad weather,
You will sit in the lounge and you’ll fret
‘Til you come to the end of your tether,
And your travel plans you will regret.
Now, if waiting around makes you famished,
And you hanker to eat something nice,
You’ll be lucky to find a stale sandwich
Being offered at twice its fair price.
Do they care if the customer’s choosey?
Making money’s the name of their game.
You’ll be forced to pass through here next Tuesday
So these vendors can rob you again.
If you’re able to hear the announcement,
You may get to the right boarding gate
By deciphering the mumbling pronouncement --
But you’re in for another long wait.
A security guard wants to frisk you.
With a rigor that duty transcends,
She’ll unpack half the things you brought with you,
So that you can repack them again.
And assuming they don’t lose your suitcase,
It arrives looking much worse for wear.
Your complaints will be scorned as a moot case:
Why protest? for at least it got there!
There is no point whatever in squawking,
So our own sullen counsel we keep,
Because flying’s still faster than walking,
Though ground service has slowed to a creep.
In the old days, the airlines once told us
Getting there would be half of the fun.
Now, with stern regulations they scold us:
We’re exhausted before we’ve begun.
The frustrations with which we must reckon
Make us wish we could stay away still;
But my family and clients all beckon,
And I have to go back – and I will.
To the airport again we are trudging,
Where pollution and noise fill the air.
Though the service is bad and begrudging,
We’ll get home, on a wing and a prayer !
© 2004
Toronto, Canada
