A poem about travelling

For 'RS'

When they selected me for the
'random security check',
I thought of you.

As the security official ran
practised, calloused hands
across middle-aged
plains and contours of jelly,
I spied your expectant, smiling face,
seated on a chair -
the best vantage point from
which to view my
prostrated helplessness.

And I think of you,
laughing
loud
and
heartily,
As the hand of US foreign policy
disappears up my rear.

It isn't very nice,
you git.