Two Hours in a Motel
Don’t look at the mirror on the mattress.
Never mind the fifty-cent earthquakes, the
{ribbed for my pleasure} impersonality.
Never mind tomorrow’s tears, weeping
like lubrication for secret hinges.
These neon moments flicker like a sign -
heartache for $29.95, extra towels - $5.oo.
These blinds remain closed, dust on the hope
and the rules on the door avoid fidelity.
Rocky Raccoon opened the drawer I avoid
and he knew my hope, my release, like death.
He has spilled like cheap gin again, the
circles spin like glass-rings on the bureau
and I’m only two plastic glasses, a foil
wrapper, nothing, really.
Adding your comment:
These are three of the best lines in contemporary poetry, my dear Friend. What a visceral penning, Scribe. Good luck in Al's contest. 
