Gate B-43 Frankfurt - Poem by J.M. White
Frankfurt airport reminds me of church
Staccato heels click on the black-gray-white granite tile floors,
as if making their way down the vestibule.
Appealing faces look up and pray to the icons of signage for guidance to their gates.
Frankfurt airport reminds me of a bazaar.
Blonde haired German businessmen make deals on cellular phones
As the Mumbai flight is delayed.
The corridor fills with Indian women in jewel-colored saris
Packing and re-packing newly acquired perfumes
One more bargain will fit.
Frankfurt airport reminds me of a fashion house.
Rail thin Estonian and Polish girls stare straight ahead as they walk
the cat-walk of the corridor.
While Turkish women are all bellies and bust
and Russian women reveal their cleavage
making plain the preference of their home countries.
Frankfurt airport reminds me of how much I want to be home.
I have already considered strange, many-headed religions.
I am already infused with exotic smells from distant markets.
I have already seen the beauty of a dozen nations.
I just pray that these angel wings will soon take flight
and take me home.
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