TSA Before Christmas
(With apologies to Clement C. Moore)
Twas the night before Christmas, ‘tween New York and O’Hare
Not a creature was stirring, asleep in the air.
The luggage was checked at a Franklin per bag,
I thought we’d bring less, but “No!” (Nag, nag, nag!)
The children were nestled all snug in their seats,
We’d made it on time, through the snow-covered streets.
Again with her Coach bag, momma boarded that night,
I’d settled my mind for that long winter flight.
It’s come to all this, don’t know what could be sadder,
I’ll tell you what happened, just what was the matter.
Right to the problem, I’ll tell in a flash,
A Franciscan Nun being handled so rash!
The goon touched the parts of the crest-fallen Sister,
She just does God’s will on earth, right down here, mister!
When, what to my angering eyes should appear,
But Supervisor Goon, and eight agents here!
“When I was your age, son, these lines moved quite quickly,
But now “for our safety”, that Nun sure looked sickly.”
More slowly than turtles, the agents they came,
And I shook my ol’ head… this $#!+’s just insane!
No liquids, no toothpaste, no shoes, you can’t don ‘em!
And certainly no t-shirts with cartoon guns on ‘em!
Your hands up on top! With your back to the wall!
No modesty left now, they must see it all!
The things you must show before you can fly,
Do not be an obstacle to mount to the sky!
So up on House panels, the appointed ones sit,
To explain how Amendments will no longer fit!
So there, in a twinkling, the 4th one went POOF
Because you can’t fly, if you don’t give them proof…
That you’re not a threat, and you’re going to give in,
T’was my turn next, if I’d just let him in.
I was dressed and prepared, from my head to my foot,
To be scanned, grabbed and probed and to show them my loot.
A laptop, an iPhone, a pair of brown slacks,
He looked like a beggar, just opening my packs.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how scary!
His cheeks were like roses (prolly from all that sherry).
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a sneer,
Knowing I’d go nowhere, till I pleased him here.
The stump of a brain kept him focused on me,
And he looked up and asked, “Where you going to be?”
T’was not his concern, and such is my lot,
And I said as a man, “That’s your business…NOT!”
He was flabby and plump, a right nasty old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A dart of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but stood up, oh quite near,
And said something loudly, so ev’ryone could hear.
Then laying his finger aside of his snout,
He turned to the back and yelled, “Got an Opt Out!”
He sprang to his spot, to his team gave a whistle,
And oh boy they came like the point of a missile.
But they heard me exclaim, and who would have thunk?
"Happy Christmas to all, and do not touch my junk!"