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