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.


About Sean O'Gorman

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

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