MOTEL EIGHT

MOTEL EIGHT

Sunlight, dark inside
a wall of light -
sun sleeps at the horizon
Motel Eight – an asphalt
roof begins to shine -

empty chairs of winter
awkward angles -
rippling of water,
Santa Ana winds. . .
a vacuum,
a cleaning woman
a TV on but
never knew about a plane
circling above…
ethnic tongue
shoulders shrug

parking lots lined
with white trucks
morning breakfast

a quarter to eight
a thinning crowd of
women in capris –
sleeveless -
capturing a January sun
a naked pool -
maintenance,
a rap at the door -

bedding held above
her head she
squeezes past a
potted plant –
pot smokers near
a door - past a woman,
seven decades older
with yellow bleached
blond hair…
smoked finger
nails, and toes in need
of clipping.
Wears thick spectacles
of white, and gives
directions.

A ball of heat is rising
touching a red tiled roof
flashing specs of white
on top of asphalt
no vacancy
flashes into
the eastern sky
a plane circles
a TV tells about a
missing child
but no one seems
to care.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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