Motel Fly By
Solitary girl with a ring and a pearl on her finger,
And she’s thumbing at keys in the hope that he’ll see his mistakes,
Yet she knows it’s already too late.
Drifting in and out of night-dreams,
Elsewhere, escape, perhaps a city where rumours deflate,
But for now it’s a desk and a flat.
With a man that has broken his pact.
Dishevelled man in suit remnants and scotched state,
Fabricating reasons for treason on the phone
To a wife who’s in bed, all alone,
Man pacing around and facing his doubts in hunched thought,
Unopened cases of items brought
As he contests with the urge to return,
Yet the thrill of escape still burns,
So like ashes suppressed in an urn he contains
The call and turns darkness on from the wall.
Local commodity, bearded and hollow, folds cardboard and sheets
in the hope of tomorrow.
Lit by neon,
the intermittent taunt that haunts his eye,
‘But not for I.’
Many thanks for reading x
And actually passed?