At the Front of the Jet

The grapefruit's fresh, the coffee's coarsely ground,
The lunch comes with a cold aperitif;
The cushioned takeoff scarcely makes a sound
More vexing than the "iff" that ends "Braniff."

Up front the stewardesses really care.
They have kind eyes, like guides in Disneyland.
(Doctors, great statesmen, writers go by air:
The people at United lend a hand.)

And at the terminal a car is waiting,
Blue windshield showing a fresh trace of suds;
They've left the blower on, refrigerating;
The tape deck breathes "Moon River"; the door thuds.

Give me the sole, the prime, the demitasse.
Yes; if God travels, then He goes first class.