just one night, please

it was a small room

in an old clapboard house

at the side of the road.

rooms for rent the sign said.

it was raining.

i was tired.

there was a small bed

with iron posts.

the bed was made.

two pillows

lay flat,

for resting your head.

there was a window

looking out to the gravel lot.

i could see my car.

the  thin curtains were a few

inches short of the sill.

once white, now

frayed and yellow.

i pulled the window up

to let air in.

the bathroom was down

the hall.

no books, no plants,

no television,

nothing of interest to

make it feel like home.

the Bible stolen from the drawer.

a picture on the wall

was gone, the square

of dust still there.

but it was for one night.

just one night alone, i told

the woman at the desk,

no luggage, one night,

and then i'd move on

from there.