Grey smoke cover dim, buzzing lights by
a black pool of mud, never used before.
By the pacific highway at sleazy E-Z8 motel
On the second floor, I sit and smoke, looking for
Lonesome folks, families, all within and without numbered doors.
The pizza delivery guy outside 204, waiting for tip
those inside can't afford
parked outside room 101, a divorce lawyers car
for a woman who cried “I can do it no more”.
On first floor a grey haired lady on a walk
In miniskirt
her cat in leash, looking for relief.
She walks upon ruins of an American dream in
her high heels.
“Ma'am, you cannot smoke here”
a police man says politely to me, hand to his gun
in the land of the free
I stump my cigarette and taste
that sweet familiar smell of polluted air
of cars in passing to LA.
As the grey smoke who covered those stray motel
ghosts drifts away.
I will sit and watch through
those thin paper walls.
About the Creator
Dark Constellations
When you can't say things out loud, you must write them down. This is not a choice, it's the core of life, connection. I just try to do that...
Missing a writing community from university days, come say hi:)
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Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
So vivid and so sad. Really created a whole movie scene in my head. Love it.