His name is Gary… and he likes to read. The moment I spotted him I knew he was the air Marshall (Gary, if you are reading this, you were not too obvious, I am just very good).

He had a back pillow, his book was wrapped in a zip lock bag, only carry on. He was tall, athletic, and All-American. He looked like he was part of a death march.  No emotions whatsoever and he was sitting in our row’s aisle seat, meaning he was running the airplane’s checkpoint.

I mean c’mon, there were two Arabs with two different last names reserving seats next to each other heading to DC. It must have raised a flags somewhere. Once we deplaned in DC, he was there waiting to board the same plane that was headed back to the same city we’ve just left. Maybe he just loves flying or has vacation time and is using it to boost his miles.  Nah!

I was so bored yet inspired (“borspired”?) that I grabbed a napkin and wrote him a light spirited rap song:

I got on the plane to head to Vegas and back

I said to myself, it’s the best place for poker and blackjack

But seated next to me is a big and tall, huge man Jack

He smiles and unloads crap from his backpack

This dude makes me dizzy and their lack of snacks

I think it was stale pretzels nobody ate

I could not think to pick something from the gate

A chatty taxi driver and his GPS made me late.

It was fear and politics, not loathing, that gave us this disunited state

You worry about me, I worry about putting food on the plate

It turns out the dude next to me is muscular Air Marshall Jack

Stuck on a plane next to air Marshall Jack

I say my name and shout “Hi Jack!”

He freezes, tenses and goes on the attack

Everyone now is looking and they put my hands behind my back

I am Arab, guessing this is now the new black or Arizona wetback

Everybody is now saying I yelled hijack

I say this is absurd and ask for some slack

There was a bag and I see no light and it all gets dark

All I can think is“don’t tase me bro”

Skip the in-flight entertainment, I’ve become the show.

Forget me and remember the Alamo.

Boss was right; I should have changed Mohammad to Moe

You cannot just do this without an intro

And tell me to Gitmo and I will go

Stuck on a plane next to air Marshall Jack

I make out a voice and ask where is my Miranda?

I am a local man with no foreign agenda

I am not the threat like the land of the panda

But then there was smack after smack

He tells my maybe I should go back to Iraq

I say maybe I should stick to the Amtrak

A dude high in rank says they are sorry and start to backtrack.

Now they realize I was being frank and it was their guy who was whack

I have seen many agents till I cannot keep track.

I walk home and now know it pays not to know Jack.

Nothing changes not even with Barack

Stuck on a plane next to air Marshall Jack

[Tarboush Tip: Programmer Buydatti, Will, Steve S.]

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