Linda Crosfield ≈ I Don’t Want To Talk About Airports



I Don’t Want to Talk About Airports

Me and my friend Amelia want to go somewhere warm,
prepaid vacation, a beach in the South Pacific, maybe,
somewhere with good food and no
lineups. Or a play, we want to go to that new one,
Fog Over Fredericton, listen to the voices backstage
that ends with everyone singing
Stand By Your Man in honour of Tammy, who plays the
customs agent who finds coke in her
cargo pants in the scene about the
crash where passengers have to climb over a
gate to escape the crazy
supervisor Tammy’s in love with.
We were going to go last week but the show was
cancelled when the weather turned to shit,
you’d think there was a
bomb scare the way people went on about it.
I’ll check in with Amelia, we’ve been planning a
trip to the mall so we can talk to that
security guard, the cute one, looks like a
pilot in his navy blue uniform, pick up some new
luggage at Walmart, everything’s on
sale, have lunch, go see the
travel agent, hope it’s not too
late, get ourselves on a
waiting list if there isn’t any room on the flight.
Some days I just don’t know what I want.



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