Rhyme, Verse, and A Bad Haircut

To summarise:

Went to the pampas. There were rivers, grasslands, snakes and alligators.

Went to the jungle. There were trees.

Got a haircut.

Flew from La Paz to Sucre, the gem of the Southern Altiplano, and was inspired to write the following, a poor take on "Philidelphia Here I Come!". It sometimes rhymes, sometimes not and has no meter, so its status as a poem is very much in question from the outset. Enjoy.

Talking Aeroplane Blues

Th' other day I packed my bags
And said, "So long, Ma, leavin' on a jet plane!
For some promised land or other
Think John Denver went there too"
So off I flew
All the azure blue beckoning

The girl behind the desk at check-in
Asked if I had anything to declare
Said "No ma'am but you sure would look better if you washed your hair
And lost some of the makeup"
And she slapped me on the face,
Handed me my boarding pass
With an assurance that if any plane were to crash this sorry day
It would be mine, a strike from God's paddle against my foulmouthed ass

The eunach at passport control
Wore a baseball cap and a stern expression
Like a hard-man leotard over a jump suit of depression
And he noted with glee the stamp on my pass that said "IRAN"
And why, pray, had I been there, young man?
"Worked for their government for a while" I said
All innocent, as such
And suddenly four more leotard wearing wrist talking security boys were all around
Didn't think working on a oil field for a while
Could land me in such a bind
It was just for a summer
They gave me one phonecall
I called my mother

"Mam!", I said, "I'm not there yet!"
And she asked how the flight had been
Not having enough courage to inform her of my incarceration
I gave the truth a wild mutation
And everything was fine in this beautiful paradise
Actually a grey room, with a grey man chewing gum
And absentmindedly fingering a gun
So I made it quick with the lies
But much to my surprise
Leotard 1 jumps through the door
And lets me go
Think it was something to do with my Dad being a senator
So in a fit of pique I asked for his name
And his badge, or something
And find out he's my cousin
Uncle Mike is doing just fine
The stroke only knocked out a hand
And his left eye

The baggage people had a look around
And pulling forth the five books I'd brought
Asked, I all seriousness

"What are these for?"

For reading, of course, was the logical reply
But logic, one feels, was far from Johnny Security's mind
And the half-chewed beard I wore
Made me look like "one of them"
And fear filled the room
Like cheap cigar smoke at a Republican Party conference

Before I knew it, the perceived danger was eliminated
John Fante burned to a crisp in a hightech oven for thoughts outside of "regular".
As I waited, I eyed the jugular of the man beside
Fall and rise
As he nervously clutched a bag marked "Coke"
And the boys came back and handed me a book of ethics and morals
Crucial to my survival
Sprung from the mouth of the Lord Himself
Called it "the Bible"

As I settled into two bottles of duty free rotgut
I marvelled again at the plight of poor pitiful me
As the dishwater pisspoor coffee
Burned my throat as I gleefully
Sucked down the last cigarette
Before making transatlantic for the first time

Unsteady on the gangway, boarding pass handed to makeup girl
With a shaky fist and a poem on the back
I stepped into the fuselage with the background clack clack of aluminium on tin
Music to my ears, and almosty on a whim
I hummed "the Great Beyond", a song I hate as much as death
But with each thinaired breath I knew in my heart of souls
That the banishment of this land's woes
Was but a temporary gain
Futher misery, it seems
Lay over this sea of pain