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.