pms poem sunday

I know you've all been looking forward to PMS Poem Sunday. But before I share with you Vacation by Rita Dove, take a gander at these great PMS-y luggage tags:

Vacation

by Rita Dove

I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall
be summoned to the gate, soon enough
there’ll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers
and perforated stubs—but for now
I can look at these ragtag nuclear families
with their cooing and bickering
or the heeled bachelorette trying
to ignore a baby’s wail and the baby’s
exhausted mother waiting to be called up early
while the athlete, one monstrous hand
asleep on his duffel bag, listens,
perched like a seal trained for the plunge.
Even the lone executive
who has wandered this far into summer
with his lasered itinerary, briefcase
knocking his knees—even he
has worked for the pleasure of bearing
no more than a scrap of himself
into this hall. He’ll dine out, she’ll sleep late,
they’ll let the sun burn them happy all morning
—a little hope, a little whimsy
before the loudspeaker blurts
and we leap up to become
Flight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.

Ah, Rita, to be on vacation once again.

And to the TSA agent that made me throw away my lotion: that bottle was mostly empty!

And to the mother of the toddler that sat behind me screaming for his bottle for 20 minutes straight: I still don't feel bad about offering to let you dump my Diet Coke into his empty bottle. At least he would have been quiet for 10 minutes.