dallas airport draft

Who started it, though? The clapping.
I thought they were just excited that their
delayed plane was finally here. But no.
I heard the wild applause and looked up
to see everyone looking up even higher,
nearly to the ceiling to the walkway
behind the glass, where they strolled along,
looking back down at us.

Who was the woman who kept hooting
and hollering, in the bright red t-shirt
with her patriotic pom-poms? Surely
she was someone's mom, or maybe just
a woman, who happened to be there,
right place right time sort of thing.

And that man? The one who came
running over with flags for the group
of kids, who asked if they wanted to stand
in front and wave them. Who was he?
Where did he come from in his
silly bow tie with his handful
of tiny flags and why?

Who were those troops? Must've been
a hundred of them, easy, they just
kept strolling, filing down the corridor
and we just kept clapping, cheering,
hooting, hollering, whistling, waving
our flags, who was the one who stopped
to dance and wave, who was the one
who stopped only to stare back at us
for a solid minute while his brothers
and sisters filed past behind him, who
was the girl with the mile-wide smile,
who was the one who cried? Was it me?