In Transit

In Transit short poem

Photo by gfpeck

Grand Rapids smell of burnt toast
Moves like a pastel mall-walker defying
Predawn blankness, sub-zero cold.

The other stunned migrants sit folded
In practice for the confined transit to come:
Uncommunicative, unsmiling, unsure.

Because small disasters are bound to occur:
Beverage cart out of vodka, seat neighbor
Full of gas, no friendly face waiting upon arrival.

Home smells of desolation, shed skin and dishes
left unwashed. No mail on the welcome mat.
The unmade bed awaits its undead occupant.

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GlenDodge

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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