miyako73
04-03-2013, 05:45 PM
I did stop counting three or four years ago
How many times I have been here checking in,
In this metal-numbered place, inside this room
Of the motel, seventies-old and lit with neon,
Across from the busiest Chevron gas station,
Three blocks from the green store, 7-Eleven,
Where skinny junkies get their fix and juices,
Where drunks wobble and empty their guts,
Where bums, Vietnam veterans, ask for coins,
Where I buy rubbers--thickly lubed and on sale.
Unlike with Oscar, the wall paper, flowery purple,
Is no longer a sore to my mascara-tinted eyes,
Nor are the cement floor, waxed and cold in April,
The dusty wooden furniture from Goodwill stores,
The headless bed--iron and rusty--screeching,
The shaded lamp that grays the empty corners,
The powdery ceiling of rain stains and black holes
That look like from indoor termites, from insects
Gluttonous at night, voracious on hot seasons
Or from fingers that probe all crevices and leaks.
On the side table lies alone the Bible, King James,
I have browsed many times--first when I was high,
And the last one, when I read Revelation by John,
The scary prophecy about the whore and the beast
I always think about when lying down still and naked,
When watching the giant ant crawl around my belly,
The nocturnal bed bug, the vampire on my pale skin,
Bite my numb shoulder, drain my musk-scented thighs,
While waiting for the apocalypse, his second coming,
To get dressed, leave, and pay my last month’s rent.
How many times I have been here checking in,
In this metal-numbered place, inside this room
Of the motel, seventies-old and lit with neon,
Across from the busiest Chevron gas station,
Three blocks from the green store, 7-Eleven,
Where skinny junkies get their fix and juices,
Where drunks wobble and empty their guts,
Where bums, Vietnam veterans, ask for coins,
Where I buy rubbers--thickly lubed and on sale.
Unlike with Oscar, the wall paper, flowery purple,
Is no longer a sore to my mascara-tinted eyes,
Nor are the cement floor, waxed and cold in April,
The dusty wooden furniture from Goodwill stores,
The headless bed--iron and rusty--screeching,
The shaded lamp that grays the empty corners,
The powdery ceiling of rain stains and black holes
That look like from indoor termites, from insects
Gluttonous at night, voracious on hot seasons
Or from fingers that probe all crevices and leaks.
On the side table lies alone the Bible, King James,
I have browsed many times--first when I was high,
And the last one, when I read Revelation by John,
The scary prophecy about the whore and the beast
I always think about when lying down still and naked,
When watching the giant ant crawl around my belly,
The nocturnal bed bug, the vampire on my pale skin,
Bite my numb shoulder, drain my musk-scented thighs,
While waiting for the apocalypse, his second coming,
To get dressed, leave, and pay my last month’s rent.