Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Hot











It was one of those Motels
that stayed in business as
a shadow of its former self,
with weekly rates and
dope deals, and a pool
that always sat dry.
The faceless, open coil
air conditioners would
freeze up, and blow hot,
if you dared try them
before it was dark.
If you wanted a phone
it was five more bucks.
The girls never got phones,
so they would run
back and forth to my room
calling tricks or dealers
or sometimes their kids
they left back home.
I would sit on the landing
in a near crippled chair
hoping a breeze would
come there and see me .
The neighbor came first
and I nodded
as he lit up a smoke.
He talked too much,
and used the girls,
and had a crappy green tattoo
of Jesus or Willie.
I never liked him but
it was hot and you can't
open the windows in those places.

1 comment:

  1. another great story within a story. some of those with more literary minds than mine would call it allegorical, but to a simpleton like me i would just call it damned good.

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