Heidi Hermanson

After Larry Levi’s Motel Room
 
Shiny on the outside
is more than just a metaphor
for some things. You only need
a few things—
a tv with cable, a swimming pool,
a liquor store you can walk to.
My six pack
filled, I gaze out the window
watching the city lights.
If I were still smoking I would’ve dramatically stubbed
the cig out by now.
I like being anonymous
in a town whose name
I can’t pronounce. I like
leaving my towels around
for someone else to pick up. The
stamp-sized motel soap
freshens the air. Cools it.
I lay back—
the last time I did this
I was young and naïve
thinking at that time
that everything would last
forever. Nothing lasts
any longer than
a match struck and then blown out,
a puff of smoke,
a crush, a stub out,
holding back the darkness.



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