No Bells Ring on Southwest
Ask for him to get wings
My Mother said before my son and I flew
to Long Island for an annual visit
He's good on a plane
Put him by a window, he sits, quietly
Passengers in front and behind him
remark how good he was at the end of the flight
It's the layovers
We both hate them
His way of coping is to run up and down the tarmac
Mine to find the nearest bar and hope there's a game on
Someday we'll mesh
So I ask the flight attendant if they have any wings
She tells me maybe, but it's a full flight
The drinks cart is heavy
My well behaved son is forgotten about in all the bustle
Which does not upset him at all, or me very much
but his Grandmother, the most
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