Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Night of the Culmination of Intense Desires
arrives, going immediately south.
The room still graced with rowdy
residue and beercans. The new one,
in the furthest wing, says Fifties Chic, its
bedspead figured with scenes of the Korean
Conflict. “You can’t make this stuff up,” she pro-
nounces, his cue to fetch snacks from the machines.
Not being robbed, returns with copious amounts.
They munch and gulp as a family argues adjacent,
the children C over C. Something they’re cooking
stinks, and combining with swamp aroma, sets
the air conditioner to coughing dirt.
He pulls the plug. They watch Noir TV,
Private Eye and Skirt
wisecracking through hollow mayhem. In
the morning (Leaving out the best part? Oh?)
shower head emits fog, depositing a gummy film.
Both cars refuse to start. Until computers so
run through scenarios of mechanical awfulness
before lurching to fitful existence!
Enroute, the lovers hoping
an intermediate universe
swallows them.
Labels: assignation, Fifties, Korean, motel
