What President-elect OBAMA's inaugural poem should be!!!

United Flight 403 Paris to Atlanta

On an airplane traveling back to a hyphenated-people
On an airplane traveling back to America
Where dullness is the greatest sin
Where blowing cigarette or cigar smoke was once thought of as a turn-on
We are riding through the clouds
Where it is more important how you identify yourself
Where it is more important to what group you claim to belong
Where it is more important to show you care
Than actually do anything but agree
We are all trying to appear unconcerned blase
All of us even the band 'Olomello Ricks' from Mozambique
It is the lead bassist's name you see
Hoping to become famous and rich in the U.S.A.
All of us even the would be artist from Atlanta
Hoping for neoimpressionist stardom
All of us having a fine time
Wishing we could be rich and famous and transcendentally happy
Showing to everyone how good it is
To be flying to the land of opportunity
And the band begins to beat on their drums
Sticks rap on headrests creating a tempo
Voices sing out the native tribal calls
And the elderly woman sitting alone looks up from her book
And taps her hand on armrests in time
Her teenage granddaughter in orange haltertop and jeans jumps into the aisle
Begins to gyrate and dance to the rhythym
Swinging hips and stillbudding breasts in easy movement
Stewardesses uniformly march down center aisles
Intent on quelling this disturbance
But magically they stop and watch
And begin to join all of us
As more passengers begin to clap
Amid shouts of pure joy escaping tight throats
All of us enjoying the feeling of an end to a journey
All hiding the itsy pangs of unsureness at flight
Not lamenting departing European shores for the New World
Like Ronald Colman in his own 'Lost Horizon'
Finding our own Shangri-La
Approaching a new continent that Columbus supposedly enslaved
Landing in a state where humans were once sold as chattel
Embarking to a nation where pollution blots out sunny L.A.
Traveling to a land that despite its faults offers something more
Pure joy at traveling to a world that may finally acclaim
This artist of portraits from the city of Scarlett's burning
This group of students subsumed in Parisienne sophistication
Able to say that they enjoyed French cuisine and not just onion soup
This grandmother no longer afraid of youth
This group of newage musicians from Mozambique
Coming to seek recognition and riches
All mixed-in with a group of language-inferior-Americans always sounding
Like poor Liza Doolittle trying to pronounce impenetrable
Language of ordering a simple coffee in a Paris cafe
Or asking how to get to the Louvre on the Metro
Or expecting a French taxicabman to speak just a l'il english
The plane now echoing with the beat rocking in the skies
All of us dancing and singing choruses of how glad it is
To be flying toward the idea of America
Flying toward the idea of America
The idea of America.