When I am on a plane,
and I hear a baby begin to cry,
I think: cry, cry, cry.
Cry slower and louder.
Cry longer.
Cry while your mother walks you around
so that the entire plane can hear you cry.
Stop crying; whimper softly.
Make us think you are done,
then bawl.
When the flight attendant offers help that is not help
– Can I bring some water?–
answer back with a wail.
Shriek.
Howl the flight attendant away.
Make your mother give up,
display her shabby grin
and press deep into her seat.
Cry right into my ear.
Cry right into the immigration line.
Cry right into the wait for the bags
that are not there, and they don’t come, and still
they do not come.
Let me hear you screech into the airport curb
and whimper in your car.
When you are gone, keep the ringing faint,
but keep it real, keep it long.
Scream baby, baby.
Rack up my airplane baby miles
for the airplane baby day
when my baby decides to cry.
Written 2013