Whitman’s Song O’ Air Travel

I sing the song of air travelO joyous flight delaysVisiting hermetically sealed distant airportswhere the Starbucks are expensiveeven by Starbucks standardsAnd my feet never touch the native sandsI didn’t plan to be one of the Bluetooth warriorsForgetting that the Borg have assimilated my right earSubject to the whims of weatherIt just happened