Up and At 'Em

It's dawn. The hallway's empty, though
The smell of eggs is in the air. The view
Out of the motel window is of asphalt,
Little more. The man who passes
By the mirror in the bathroom may
Be me, but he seems only half-familiar,
Someone met, who's lost his name,
And, in the paper, distant news of
Falling objects, ending lives, all lies,
Perhaps. How would one know?
The walls are white. The room is
Small and antiseptic. Smaller still
Would seem to be the life inside,
Which may be mine or may be mostly
Owned by others. This man ties his
Tie and shoes, and packs his bag.
He has to go. He's witnessed sixty
Years of dawns. No other brought
Less hope.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2013-10-12 at 15:11

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text