Stopping by the MD-88 on a Snowy Evening

 Stopping by the MD-88 on a Snowy Evening

Whose ships these are I think I know.

His house is in Atlanta though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch their wings fill up with snow.

My little tug must think it queer

To stop without a bag cart near

Between the terminal and gates

The darkest evening of the year.

The fanbelt squeals, the cabin shakes.

The squeak of glove on parking brake

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The night is lonely, dark and deep,

But I have cabins left to sweep,

And hours to go before I sleep,

And hours to go before I sleep.