Thursday, July 24, 2003

LA: Part One We woke up early on Tuesday morning and got picked up by our regular driver, “Hollywood Bob.” We arrived at the airport and had to go through security and, as usual, Harvey always gets stopped. That’s because Harvey has an artificial hip from his first bout of cancer. Finally we got on the airplane, everything was going smoothly until they served breakfast. I wrote this poem while I was on my break from my home school independent study program. The poem kept me from feeling sick, because it made me laugh so much. Air Plane Food By Danielle I couldn’t eat. I had breakfast. So… I didn’t need another I ordered it just to be polite But it really is a disgusting sight First course was a fruit plate White pineapple freshly defrosted A strawberry with a chunk of ice in the center Soggy grapefruit I hate grapefruit. Soggy orange slices But the grapes were good I had a stale biscuit Pretty good for a stale piece of flour & butter, fat and grease. “Is that all you want, Miss?” “Uh…yeah.” I said feeling a little sick Second course on this trip to Los Angeles Is eggs Ham eggs and a cut, processed potato piece. Looking at my plate, then at my water. I drank the water. Looking at the plate again… Oh my god, the potato jiggled!!! I speared the tater triangle, and then hacked it to bits. The stewardess looked at me and asked, “Want some salt, Sweetie?” “No thanks, I’m mashing my taters so they will stop dancing.” She walked off, and I giggled. Watching the clouds & listening to CD’s I look back at my plate… The ham is curling up and crusting over. “Poor piggy!!” I wanna cry. Damn. I would hate to be a plate of airplane food. Damn But… It would be cool to be the tiny salt and peppershakers… Those things rock. 10:48:40 AM