Arrive an hour early just in case –
of what, I can’t say, some kind of trouble
stalking dreams and stories on TV.  

(Has flight changed? Will we wear football helmets,
bang against overhead bins like a box of rocks?)  

Airport Dunkin’ Donuts, egg-cheese bagel,
so quotidian, but so not so this morning –
everything tastes different on vacation.  

I feel the too-small bag. Don’t squeeze my muffin.
I lift my eyebrow, laugh, and tell my wife
“I’ll squeeze your muffin every chance I get!”  

Think of doing Tai Chi in the terminal.
TSA’d arrest me, so I don’t.

Grandkids coming, walking with their mother.
Sacks of snacks and purple backpacks.
Julia’s grown two inches in a week.  

I tell Sarah red’s the rarest sea glass.
She says, “Gipaw, if I find two pieces
of red sea glass, I will give you one.”  

Passengers take seats beside our gate,
rows of eggs filling a cardboard carton.  

Finally, they call our Zone for boarding.
We file through the jetway like meek ants.  

Flight attendant commandeers our grandkids
to shout “Welcome to Delta” in the mic  

Buckled in, we wait for fate to scoop us up
on a flight that has no turbulence.