motel
on the way to the beach.
the fields
are cut,
the rows of green gone.
the corn
harvested,
the soy and
sea of beans
are in cans now.
the world is flat again,
as i check in.
free wi-fi
the sign says.
color tv.
i open the door to what
hell must
be like.
how can anyone stay
here more
than one night
without killing themselves.
the hard
bed,
the hard pillow,
the smell of cigarettes
and sin.
someone has even lifted
Gideon's Bible from the skinny
drawer.
but down the hall,
there's ice.
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