Forty Minutes
Tomorrow I’m getting on a plane
to fly to California.
Unfortunately, it’s not a non-stop.
It makes a stop in Denver,
which is weird because my parents live
in Denver and
I’m not stopping to see them.
I’ll only be in Denver for about fifty minutes.
In the old days my parents might have gotten
in their car,
driven to the airport
and met me at the gate.
We would have talked for forty minutes
before I would have gotten on the next plane
to go wherever it was I was going.
But now, everything’s different.
They can’t drive anymore.
And even if they could,
they couldn’t get through security anymore,
without a ticket.
There’s no more surprise visits to airports.
Nor is there any more hummus
or yogurt in carry-on bags.
It’s all so serious now.
It’s too bad.
I would have enjoyed seeing them
for forty minutes.
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