I am a motel.
many have taken refuge within my walls.
I wish that they would take up residency,
but I am a temporary shelter.
they do not stay.
I keep them warm and comfortable.
I provide solace when storms become violent.
I want to be their home,
but I am a temporary shelter.
they do not stay.
they go into my rooms and they make messes.
they do not clean up after themselves;
they do not see the need to
because I am a temporary shelter.
they do not stay.
the time seems to pass quickly.
they check in and say “the place is nice”,
but I soon hear them say that it is time to move on.
they always continue their journeys without me.
I am a temporary shelter.
they do not stay.
It is midnight
and I stand alone in the quiet.
the only light illuminating the dark
is the neon sign placed over my door.
it glows faintly.
my rooms are empty;
my beds are made.
there are peppermints on the pillows.
I am a motel.
there is a welcome mat
that is worn and faded
at my front step.
my door is open,
and above it,
my neon sign flickers
vacancy
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 8:50 PM UTC