Wednesday, April 13, 2016

the vacancy

the vacancy sign
is on,
so you pull in for the night.
it's a small place,
a spot outside
the door
you check in. one bag,
one night.
you sit on the bed
and take
your shoes off.
hit the tv on.
you lie back on the flowered
bedspread.
on the stiff mattress,
thin and worn.
you listen
to your neighbors next
door talking
about the grand canyon.
there's a picture of it on your
wall.
then nothing
for awhile.
you turn the light off,
undress.
turn off the tv.
you get a glass of water
setting it next
to the phone,
next to the heavy lamp
screwed in
to the wall.
you hear the couple
next door say goodnight
to one another.
you say it too.

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