Her Poem
Years later
his is alone in a hotel room.
The air-condition sings to him,
the muted TV blinks its bright eye
into a darkened room.
It was in a motel room,
a room not so well appointed,
that a poem came to him,
it showed herself to his blindness,
It opened and he entered her
like a thief.
That year
he watched as her crushed spirit
left on a greyhound bus.
No one on that bus
recognized her unread poetry.
This year
here in a hotel alone
where room-service comes when called,
he recalls
trying to write of her once more
but that poem will not now come.
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