Thanks, Martin!
TRAVEL HOLD-UP
The passengers were seated.
We rolled out from the gate.
Our plane was next for take-off.
For once, we were not late.
The Spectator was laid out
to be read upon my lap.
That dreadful "Competition"
always helps me with my nap.
But all at once my cellphone,
which was actually my son's,
began to blare a rap song
whose refrain was "bombs and guns."
The officers had questions.
By the end, they didn't doubt me,
but when at last I was released,
the plane had left without me.
Last edited by Roger Slater; 08-13-2010 at 08:05 PM.
Reason: tweaking
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