SECURITY ALERT

I caught a fungus when I flew;
The nasty stuff grew in my shoe.
My traveling buddies got it too.
We traced it to the checkpoint queue.

I flashed my ticket, checked my bags,
And found the line that zigs and zags.
Twas there I met some snarly snags,
As uniformed men checked our tags.

I tossed my footwear on the tram
To walk upon their diagram,
Right there, I caught the double-wham
Of tromping in someone's toe jam.

Then, marching through the metal maze,
I somehow caught the checker's gaze,
And entered, thus, another phase
Of poking, prodding and delays.

Released into the corridor,
I sprinted for Gate Thirty-four.
The first stop on our travel tour,
We found a round-the-clock drugstore.

My trip was ruined, short and sweet,
By itching, burning, sticky feet.
I sat and soaked, till they were neat,
Just like a sweaty athlete.

Now I wear socks each time I fly;
To keep my feet secure and dry.
I toss them out to purify,
Because I have grown fungi-shy.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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