Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Travelers motor lodge
Outside on the walkway
She had her sunglasses on at dusk
Smoking an extra long cigarette
Bathrobe and bare feet
Ample hips swaying to the music in her head
Nothing much on underneath
Another night flower
Quite ready to blossom

Half intoxicated, he watched her
Moths fluttering above her head
Around a dim awning light
A motel room nymph
Tonight’s vision of beauty
Three doors down from him
Hopefully she was alone, he thought
Unconsciously the words escaped his lips
Greetings and invitation

She neither returned, or accepted
Turning, back into her room she went
He sat in a lounge chair staring at where she had been
Another gulp of vodka
Thinking she probably took him for a creep
Just as he took her for an easy pick up
There was still the magnificent vista
Satellite television inside
And another bottle of vodka

Then he heard a door open
She had stepped outside again
He pretended not to pay her much mind this time
Until she was standing in front of him
A bottle of beer in one hand
Between two fingers of the other
A cigarette burning
Whirling tendrils of smoke
Rising and dissipating

Slowly raising his head
His ascending eyes leaving her bare feet
Shins and white terrycloth bathrobe
Belted, but slightly open
Enough of her bosom visible below her lovely neck
Soft pretty face and hard brown eyes
She was no dainty daisy
Night flower blossoming
She asked him about that drink

He thought she had a hollow leg
Putting down booze like a seasoned toper
A job which took her from Roanoke to Norfolk
Divorced with a drinking problem
The breeze was blowing down the walkway
Carrying her scent to him
Inhaling deeply, eyes closed
Exhaling with a lusty sigh
Her hair was still wet

Nightfall found them in a friendly way
A slight chill in the highland air
Inside for several more drinks
He recognized the look in her eyes
Not yet, he said under his breath
As he had remembered her swaying hips
Turning on the clock radio, pouring two more drinks
Dialing through stations, finding appropriate music
He scooped her up in his arms

Probably one of the best poems I have read in a while. Full of images immediately understandable, powerful in telling the tale, taking the reader right there, letting them watch, become envious.

Thanks, Dadio.

Old side of the road motor lodges have always been magical places to me. I've bivouacked many times in old motel rooms and still know of a good several that have been kept up over the years. It may sound cheap or caddish, but they turn me on and I can sometimes tap into the energy that has been released time after time in such places. Back before turning into a family man, I'd travel off to a party town like Harrisonburg, Blacksburg, Virginia Beach, Ocean View or Nags Head, check in some nice old motel and then hit the bars. A knot of money along with some decent booze and high grade smoke, I hardly ever went without some late night company. Everything seemed aglow and blissfully blurry. Clear plastic motel cups and square ice bucket setting by the sink, Drinks and conversation at the small motel table. The tall full length mirror always hung over a low dresser right across from the bed. A tipsy night flowering motel nymph who was as much on the prowl as I.

Some of the best times I suppose have swiftly faded from memory .

The familiarity here, thank you.

chance becomings

On any given day.