ode to spirit airlines

you golden Proletariat missile
you penny-pinching, carry-on measuring sky chariot
i sit in you and contemplate mortality

most people hate but tolerate you
you’ve taken me to panama at 3am for $100 and a randomly selected middle seat
they say you gouge them

i say pack less shit
you say the sky’s too heavy already: they don’t need three pairs of shoes
for a weekend in nashville

i say i love you. it feels so good to say i love you.
it feels right to eat your humidity and jet-exhaust each time we land in fort lauderdale
you have no first class

we are all one class
we’re all kinda poor or stingy
except for the first-row of extra legroom bourgeois fucks

you cram us in and demand our closeness
you deny us little bottles of water and scraps of chips and we thank you
we know we can live leaner

we, the hardened mass of workers cutting clouds in your yellow belly
you give us nothing but gray chair and palm-sized tray tables
you don’t pretend that we are special

you tell us we are stinking apes strapped to seats in the stratosphere
and isn’t that enough?

Pronouns: He/Him

1 Poem

Brendan Walsh

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ode to spirit airlines

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