motel,
after telling
your wife
that you have to leave
for the night.
you can't take it anymore.
you set your one
bag down.
then sit on the bed.
it's hard.
the pillows are hard
as well.
you can hear
the tv
on in the room beside you.
the laughter
of a game
show.
everything smells
like a cigarette.
there's a picture on the wall
above the dresser
of a blue stream
with a deer
looking out, staring in
your direction,
as if about to be shot.
tomorrow, you'll go home
again.
and at last,
one way or the other,
try to figure things out.
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