SluggishA Poem by IndaWorking at the airport.Sluggish
The suitcases keep coming up the carrousel and the old man nearly fell chasing his. What the hell is this? Why not look for another heart breaking, mind numbing job that hurts my back a bit less? Although I must confess there’s a fair amount of sizzling Brazilians that roll by- exciting the Cubans. (hard at work) “Hey momma, need help with that?” They say as they pull down another bag. Big flight's here, three hundred passengers; twice as much luggage. What’s worse, I’m hung over- sluggish. © 2013 Inda |
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1 Review Added on September 6, 2013 Last Updated on September 6, 2013 |

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