On my 5th flight to Moscow by Klecko

On my 5th flight to Moscow
I flew Delta Airlines
They repaid me with an aisle seat
In a row that resembled lawn chairs

To my right sat 4 Dutch boys
Who stared into the shoulder blades
Of the chairs directly in front of them
Which doubled as a theater

The screen was Pop Tart sized
Placed just above the magizine pouch
No one ever reads them
Are they there to cover barf bags

I was watching Clive Barker
And, the Dutch all switched to Disney
Just when that Little Mermaid spoke
The seat in front of me reclined

At 6 foot 3 - I grimaced
And, gave the guy - that guy look
Which said "Do you have to be such an A-Hole"
His silence indacated that he did

He was talking with some woman
That his wife the flutist wasn't coming
Her hand had lost it's faculties
Because she suffered from drop palsey

Several rows behind me
Sat a chick in fish net stockings
She was familiar with the red light
And I wished I was as well

But then my wifes silhouette - it surfaced
In a cloud bank full of thunder
And their was no silver linings
Just a contract for divorce

When the airplane finally set down
The passengers shared a strong sense of accomplishment
We had survived the boredom - and each other
It felt good to stretch our legs

My layover was in Amsterdam
But I spent it in the airport
Applauding all the wooden shoes
And, tulip laden post cards

The chick with fishnet stockings
Sat down - just to my left side
And, another woman approached her
And, chose to sit upon her lap

The 2 of them started kissing
Not like the lesbo's in the pornos
I think they really loved each other
So I got up to go pee

The bathroom looked progressive
With its vogue new line of urinals
But, they smelt like litter boxes
That has been submerged in ancient puss

I began to gasp, and almost gagged
While one hand shielded my unfiltered airway
I turned my back and ran out
I didn't even wash my hands

The stench hung out in the hallway
and, the non descript didn't notice
Because the people who go to Holland
Have only one thing on their mind

It seemed like I crossed a dessert
Or at least a couple bad dreams
Before I saw myself standing
Under the concourse K's flashing sign

I was the second person
In a line that would gain admission
To a rusty sort of contraption
That might just find the Motherland

The girl in front was pretty
With her hair that was died to the 11th shade of red
But, the thing that drove me crazy
Her belt buckle was not flush

When our conversation ignited
She volunteered her name
"I am Olga from the Oblast
Have you noticed how they treat us

If you were to fly to Germany
Or even viet Nam
The line in which you waited
Would be equipped with someplace to sit

But just because we are Russians
They have to treat us so unfairly
It is because they are so angry
Or maybe just because they are stupid"

On my 5th flight to Moscow
22 hours dragged by
From the time I left my front door
And, crossed the Hotel Bega's threshold.