Pat-Down

My husband’s hip’s titanium

So he’s accustomed to

A pat-down at the airport,

Right in everybody’s view.

 

Yet ‘til now I’ve not experienced

An agent treating me

Like I’m a lowlife criminal

Who just might up and flee.

 

She touched my arms (extended),

Then my waist and hips and back

And next, each thigh up to the groin.

(How she deserved a smack!)

 

She let me know beforehand

That my buttocks she would feel

And when she did I thought

That all of it was just surreal.

 

I guess I was a random pick

But I was awful pissed

To be treated, out in public,

Like a thug or terrorist.