Exit Row: A Poem

How I decided to stop using a cane

Midjourney prompt: Create an image of a man standing on the wing of a plane, flying over clouds. He has a cane in his right hand.

To hear the related 5-minute audio file that I uploaded today as my Morning Journal flash briefing for Alexa devices, please click on the play button:

Exit Row

I thought I was so smart—
a stylish cane gets
an old guy onto the plane
ahead of all
the able bodies.

Yeah, I’m getting wobbly.
But I play pickleball
like a sly chimp.

It turns out
DOT doesn’t allow it.
“Please step over here sir,”
the attendant tells me.
No time to let her know
how my volleys snap
like fried grease in the kitchen.

I watch all the passengers
pass me by,
filling the overheads.
I felt like an idiot,
but we got better seats
in Row 3.

At the hotel,
I discovered I’d left
that damn cane
beside a urinal in Terminal D.

Maybe I don’t need it yet,
after all.

---

We are back in Sanibel after a terrific four days in Boston and Maine.

At the Fort Myers airport Friday, I discovered they don’t let you sit in an Exit Row if you approach the ticket podium with a cane.

And I really did forget the cane somewhere at Logan Airport in Boston. Thus the poem.

Tops on my To Do list today is to find a Pilates studio where I can begin strengthening the core and the rest of my body. Both of my daughters, Sarah and Roo, are Pilates enthusiasts.

I plan to join them!