Allen Ginsberg
Newark, New Jersey
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In The Baggage Room At Greyhound

Rating: 3.0

In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal
sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky
waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart
worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in
the night-time red downtown heaven
staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering
these thoughts were not eternity, nor the poverty
of our lives, irritable baggage clerks,
nor the millions of weeping relatives surrounding the
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Michael Walker 27 July 2019
An engaging poem based on his own job as a baggage attendant, and what he observed there. But I think the last line spoils it.
0 0 Reply
Michael Walker 18 February 2015
I relate easily to this poem, as I have had similar manual jobs, I know what they are like; and this poem rings true.
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5/18/2021 1:28:23 PM #