After a long and wretched flight
That stretched from daylight into night,
Where babies wept and tempers shattered
And the plane lurched and whisky splattered
Over the plastic food, I came
To claim my bags from the Baggage Claim.
Around, the carousel went around
The anxious travelers sought and found
Their bags, intact or gently battered,
But to my foolish eyes what mattered
Was a brave suitcase, red and small,
That circled round, not mine at all,
I knew that bag, It must be hers,
We hadn’t met in seven years!
And as the steel plates squealed and clattered
My happy memories chimed and chattered
An old man pulled it off the Claim
My bags appeared; I did the same.
I loved the subtle irony of longing expressed here.
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