Motel Memory 1
There’s got to be some kind of award for driving past motel memories,
Freckled cotton sheets and hairballs on the pavement.
We never owned a cat.
It doesn’t take much to solve the mystery of whose spine is moonlighting as grout between the bathroom tiles.
Smoke signals in a non-smoking apartment is a bad way to lose your security deposit,
But bleeding out in his bathtub is sure fire way to remain a missing person forever.
Beneath this molecular wasteland there is a suitcase filled with over crowded dream catchers that will become some hipster’s coffee table if you don’t grab it and run.
Pack your dignity, it’s time to go.
Carly Weiser is a poet from Buffalo, New York, exploring what it means to be a female millennial in middle-America. Previous publications include The Allentowner, Melancholy Hyperbole, and Mixtape Methodology. In her spare time she likes to love men like Jack Kerouac and drink too much.
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Photo credit: Justin Brown (https://www.flickr.com/photos/justininsd)