Delta

In flying cross the country I
Did not achieve what I set out
To do; instead I wandered by
And back and forth. I do not doubt
That those who did this to me did
Not mean to do it, or intend
To harm my soul or flip my lid
And still they did so by the end.
In flying back where I began
Though not where I began at all
I saw a melancholy man
In one half-glimpse across the hall
Only to know, upon reflection
It merely mirrored my dejection.