Heathens in the Sky

Challenging our God is the jet engines' roar
Cinnabon and tarmac as I open the door.
Challenging our sun is the cabin and fins
Their blasphemous wings lack in beauty of skin...
Hell's angels.
Or Satan himself, searching for the corruptible,
The weak,
Or the seductive and sleek:
LAX is our Eden
Our tower of Babel
We bask in the glory
Of our inventions in travel.

An automated smile in a knit sweater vest
Regurgitates her greetings all over her desk:
Follow these instructions if you're confronted by Death
Calmly grab the hand of the person to your left
And if that may be you, put your hand in the air
Open palms for the god who may not be there!

But you see, I've got this pill...
And I'll be able to close my eyes,
Though losing consciousness, justified.
So New Orleans,
Here I come.