Up early, breakfast and out
A plane to catch without a doubt

Bags overflowing, filled to the hilt
Rush to the airport without being kilt

Long lines aplenty, people galore
My 50-pound bag, carry-on and more

Security check one, security check two
What in the heck do they think I’ll do?

Barcelona to Munich and then on home
Time I get there I’ll be tired to the bone

Crowds rush the plane though I don’t know why
It will be a long time yet before we fly

Overheads flung open as chaos takes hold
Storage space goes to the fast and the bold

We find our seats amid flurry and fanfare
Too small, of course, for my modest derrière

The hours they pass so slowly it seems
Punctuated here and there by fitful dreams

This old body of mine does protest for sure
But there’s no relief so I must endure

San Francisco is close, it’s about time
Then on to Lincoln, a thought sublime

The runway is open, there is nothing to fear
Tires hit the Tarmac amid a rousing cheer

Thoughts of flight 214 are banished at last
Now to clear customs really really fast

An immigration agent’s cold hard stare
Told me in a flash he didn’t much care

So we grabbed our bags without much fuss
Then thru the doors to find our bus

Our transportation wasn’t where it should be
This means more of a delay don’t you see

Finally we’re back home to Lincoln Hills
A pile of dirty clothes and a stack of bills

Then the morning after my wife says to me
“Our club has a nice trip planned to Hungary!”

Phil Robertson is a resident of Lincoln