room for rent

the rental
room
is clean
but smells
of must
and
people
that have come
and gone,
none
that have
stayed
beyond
their welcome.
the made
bed. the thin
curtains
that fall short
of the sill,
and bent blinds.
the dried
flowers
in a plain
white vase
does nothing
but extend
the loneliness
of what it is
and what it
isn't.
a book of poems
by
Robert frost
is on the night
stand.
a crimped
page
ear marked
on the road
not taken.