The Wrong Plane

Pound, Pound! The hammer drums.
Smash, Smash! It always hums.
Reason bashed my head against a wall,
where I came face to face with
my final boarding call.
The flight would leave without me,
So now I better run.
Will they give my seat away
to some flight attendant's son?
Where is he going I wonder?
Maybe he's got a girlfriend in Jersey,
Or perhaps she's got him.
Flight number 27658, could that number
be any more confusing? Who the heck names anything
27658? It's all bogus, I conclude.
They just want to sell you off to some
Indian dude who asks you for your pass
and offers you first class.
Sure, I'll take first class and make myself
forever discontent with economy for the rest
of my miserable flying life. Thank you Indian dude.
No, I am here on time, my seat is reserved,
so I'll hop on my plane, shove my nose in a good book,
and forget the world exists until we land and the jolt of
the brakes starts the pounding again.
And reason returns with its ugly face to laugh at my
stupidity as I realize I'll forever get on the wrong plane.