Thursday, April 17, 2025

GAS Featured Poet: Sam Hendrian


Sam Hendrian is a Los Angeles-based filmmaker and poet striving to foster empathy through art. Every Sunday, he writes personalized poems for passersby outside of Chevalier’s Books, LA’s oldest independent bookstore. You can find his poetry and film links on Instagram at @samhendrian143. 


Nudist Colony for Ring Fingers


Glanced up at the ceiling 

In the way a person does 

When they hear their favorite song 

On the coffee shop radio. 


A purer form of temporary relief 

Than food or mood-enhancing drugs,

The flash of a flashback smile 

Radiating a room full of anti-adulting adults. 


She figured her life would be over 

As soon as she started dating 

So she ironed her eyes with “Maybe”

And did not dare let them grow wrinkled.


There must be a nudist colony for ring fingers, 

A place of connection for the purposefully disconnected 

Who celebrate their independence 

One closeted tear at a time. 


Occasionally compensated with a public park or crowded hallway 

But always wound up wondering what the point was 

Since everyone was trained to instantly crop out 

Evidence of human company. 


Sometimes the only voice she heard all day 

Was the elevator saying “Going up” 

Which tempted her to go back down

Just to continue the conversation. 



Rouge-Cheeked Wish 


A litter of kittens meowed to canonize 

Janitor Jan, hero of the strip mall 

Whose hunched-over stance and trance-prone eyes 

Were camouflaged by the trash cans and vending machines. 


Heard her phone vibrate and took it out 

Then ignored the message as if to say 

I’m getting used to you being gone 

While you’re still here. 


Sympathetic Sandy almost tossed her a buck 

Like she would a leftovers-loaded homeless man

Before remembering that charity 

Implied a power disparity. 


And she certainly wasn’t more powerful 

Whistling “Someone to Watch Over Me”

As she gazed at the local liquor store,

The fragile fabric of a fading fantasy. 


Went to dinner then to lunch, 

Hospice then the infant ward 

Figuring backwards motion 

Might lighten the plight of moving forwards. 


Caught a sunset glimpse of Janitor Jan

Mopping up vomit between Chili’s and Tillys 

And immediately echoed her rouge-cheeked wish 

To look invisible but feel seen. 




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