POEM - Fried Bananas at the Airport

Domestic terminal in Southern India
Always a little different
Like the mom and pop version
Of the friendly skies
And I am greeted by rows and rows
Of the good chairs
Softly padded
With arm rests
And the sense that
There are times
When a long time is spent
Waiting to be taken away

And surrounding this sea of relaxation
Are flourishings of commerce
Selling everything
From clothing to books
Purses to herbal remedies
A flurry of activity
At surprisingly reasonable rates

My traveling companion steps aside
To take care of some business
Meanwhile I shop
Imagine which dhoti
Will look the best
Admiring the crisp linen shirts
Making a mental shopping list

He returns with a question
"You ever had the fried bananas here?"
I reply in the negative
"C'mon. My treat."

And this is different
Than the corporate sterility
Of American airports
With escalated prices
For deflated quality
In contrast this is real cooking
This looks good
Feels right
We receive or treat
Grab a seat
And dig in
It is very good
It is just the right flavor
Like a mouthful of sweetened karma
Makes me prefer
The mom and pop approach
Can't wait to fly through again
Can't wait to eat fried bananas
Right in the middle of the airport
Hitting just the right spot