It struck me in the back of the cafeteria,
between the meat pie and the chicken,
that I am not an active youth. Sure
I hike, and I run, and occasionally
I will take a trip out to the sea,
But that isn’t the active youth anymore,
that’s the active old man. That’s my dad.
A wonderful, respected man, but
certainly one “of his time.” A time,
nowadays, that is long past. Overtaken
like the Wright brothers were
by the juggernaut of American Airlines.
Oh, we’ll always remember those boys
in our comfortable window seats,
viewing the clouds like Zeus on Olympus,
munching down complimentary pretzels
on our cheap, plastic, fold-out trays
not unlike how I remembered my father
from that lonely table on that Saturday night,
who was revolutionizing the world
long before I was ever born.
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