Love Song for the Transportation Security Administration

by Joshua Schwartz

Softly, like the lingering touches of a dream-love,

Your not unwanted fingers slowly inch themselves past

My waistband, and haltingly down—


To the space reserved just for you (and, possibly, foreign weapon-grade material)

Your fingers move in fits and starts;

What are you searching for down there?

Is it my heart? Because that you already have.

I wore my sexiest pair of shapeless sweatpants for you—

No belts, no metal flies or buttons—

I don’t want anything to impede our love.

The other passengers in line look on impatiently, their breathing heavy.

They cannot wait to have their turn,

To have their rendez-vous with romance, their date with destiny.

Long have I admired you from afar, you:

With your brilliant blue shirt and imperial attitude—

You love playing hard to get, and it just makes me want you more.

Oh, grope me, grope me, Mr. TSA Man!

Make me a man with your invasive and unexpected touch.

I saw you giving me the once-over—now look me all over with your FULL BODY SCANNER.

I want you to see everything. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.

I am not hiding anything from you—just check.

You asked me to step over to the side, and I was thrilled.

I knew you wanted some special alone time with me

(Tho’ I saw some dogs around here, and I don’t think I’d be into that).

What excuse did you use to make this happen?

The only weapon I was carrying was one that I cannot remove, if you know what I mean.

When you told me, “I am going to put my hands down your pants,” I felt such a thrill.

Some people like courtship, but I like a man who cuts right to the chase.

I like a man who is bold, confident, and willing to touch hundreds of

Varieties of genitals daily without blinking an eye.

Oh, please tell me mine are your favorites.

And to those critics out there who think this is a

Gross violation of our civil liberties,

I only have this to say: It works. It’s effective.

He touched my genitals, and now I’m flying.

Oh, how I love you, Mr. TSA man.

You with your dextrous fingers and complete disregard for basic privacy.

I want to kick off my laceless shoes and walk calmy but quickly...

All over, just speaking in firm but not extraneously loud tones

Of our love. I know loving you is not duty-free, but I am willing

To live up to the responsibility.


Oh. Oh no.

They are moving me along. They are handing me back my things.

I thought we had reached that stage in the relationship

When I would leave my things with you: my belt, a change of clothes,

My toothpaste.

But no. And now you’re gone.

And all I can think is how to see you again.

How to feel your latex-clad fingers all over my body.

I know: I’ll bring a bottle of wine and pack it in my bag for us to share.

And when the guards come to take me away ... to you,

I’ll scream: No!

I’m not a terrorist. I’m just in love.

The Philolexian Society
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