Survivor

If you live
through the unlikely event

of a water landing

and you are able to use

your cushion as a floatation

device

until you dog paddle to

salt-water choked,

shark-encircled safety

of a life raft

and

you and your two

frightened but amiable companions

live on sustenance bars

and canned

water for at least

three days,

praying in all the tongues you know

to all the gods you’ve ever heard of

while your

sunburned face chills

in the moon dark night,

then,

then, madam,

you may appropriate

this title.

A long check-in line without valet service does not count.