deepundergroundpoetry.com
A small crowd
The Motel windows catch arcs of blue light
then drops them onto wet tarmac.
The mood stands in small groups
arms folded cold, as time smokes cigarettes
and murmurs to strangers.
A first floor door opens and a black mass
wheels along beneath the outside handrail.
Our eyes carry it into a slither of white walls and green beds.
The clunk of the rear doors leaves behind another rumor
and a red penned asterix on tomorrows cleaning roster.
then drops them onto wet tarmac.
The mood stands in small groups
arms folded cold, as time smokes cigarettes
and murmurs to strangers.
A first floor door opens and a black mass
wheels along beneath the outside handrail.
Our eyes carry it into a slither of white walls and green beds.
The clunk of the rear doors leaves behind another rumor
and a red penned asterix on tomorrows cleaning roster.
Published 1st Nov 2020
| Edited 2nd Nov 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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