Crammed, jammed, packed in like sardines

We flit, we fly, all the way from New Orleans.

I struggle in my cocoon, this flight

Wanting to jump out, with all my might.

Some simply sit, and stare into space,

Others with a blank look, without a trace

Or even some semblance of intelligence.

I just sit quietly, and wistfully wince.

11/28/2006

Author's Note: I pronounce it "N'Awlins", dahlins'....

Posted on 12/18/2006
Copyright © 2025 Joe Cramer