Heathrow Terminal 5
Yes, I survived Heathrow
Verily even her Terminal Five
The so-monikered T5
But in order to thwart
The luggage-imbibing properties
Of T5's youthful inexperience
And her teething troubles
I took my own baggage onboard with me
Carrying, lugging, feeling the weight
At the security zone I paused
In a Wait A Minute sort of way
Noticing a flashing video display of books
Ceiling-high
High above the lower realms
Where liquids and gels
Must be separated
And fanny packs
Are patted down
And I did make a digital record
A facsimile documentation
Of the bibliocentric sight
Of books seven metres wide
In virtual advertisement
Of British culture in general
And commercial enthusiasm in particular
Whereupon my person was approached
By personnel of the security persuasion
Sidling backward backward toward me
To make sure their eyes
Would scan me every millisecond
Lest I escape
Lest I escape
Announcing to me
And to my effervescent lasting shame
That I had broken rules and regs
Of Heathrow
And of security zones everywhere
In taking a "picture"
So her Securityness watched
With destructive care
As on command
I deleted the very image of books
From my virtual memory
Thereby tumbling into treason
A librarian told to be a William Tell
To shoot the apple
Off the head of his child
Or the image of books
Off his soul.
I cannot show you
That image
Now.
- Richard Hacken