of the marriage, for the child,
for peace
and good will,
i checked into a motel
on route one
to get away for a while.
three days, three nights
away from
home, as if that would
solve everything.
and as i lay there
on the stiff mattress,
the first night, listening
to the man coughing
next door, through
the thin walls, smelling
the cigarette smoke
through the vents.
his television on. i stared
at the walls.
the painting of George
Washington crossing
the Delaware.
poorly painted, poorly
drawn.
i packed up and went home.
the hell with it all.
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