Airports

All I have
is now packed into
3 bags from 3 years
and now
I’m almost home.
There’s a sweet smell
to the stale air
of Los Angeles
and in this spot
I wait for my next flight.
Waiting beside
a pretty girl holding a newspaper
and all I can hear
is the gambler behind us
talking about
rented cars
and other ways to relax.
This is transit,
a place
where everyone
seems nice
through that endless
haze of excitement
where we’re all
just coming or going.

Advertisements

About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: