®

Today's poem is by Ron Houchin

Motel Night

The towel that can be stolen
is not a true towel.
It lacks terry cloth
and feels like cardboard.

The cup from which I can drink
is not a true cup.
It is soft plastic and almost
collapses with the weight of water.

The bed is real enough,
so are the mirrors,
but they are bolted
to floor and walls.

The soap's a think placeholder
for the idea of soap.
Suds must be coaxed out
with hot water a bubble at a time.

The small tv picks up
half-shadows of life,
like game shows and
shopping channels.

The night clerk looks so much
like Lao-tzu, I know
if I complain, he'll just say,
"What'd you expect?"



Copyright © 2003 Ron Houchin All rights reserved
from Moveable Darkness
Salmon Poetry / Dufour Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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