business or pleasure

with my

one satchel of clothes,

i check into

a motel

on the dark side

of the interstate.

the neon light has

two letters

out.

fre -wif

it says in bright red

beside the word Vacancy.

there's an ancient

pay phone

and an ice machine

in the breezeway

and an old man smoking a cigarette.

he's sitting in a plastic chair

in front of the open door

to his room.

he seems to be deep

in thought about something.

are you here

for business or pleasure?

the young

man

behind the counter

asks.

i see a large welt on the side

of his long

neck,

that he keeps scratching.

mosquito bite, i imagine.

i guess pleasure,

i tell him.

but we'll see how the night

goes.