Home For the Holidays
Thanksgiving Eve at Motel 6,
a day from home, five hundred miles
of brake-lights, everybody trying
to gather back together into family.
Most of what I know of family
is with me in these one-night
rented walls.
Bedtime, time to walk the dog.
Behind the dumpster she wags her tail,
smiles, and here’s a man’s
face, by reflected light. I can’t tell,
he might be somebody’s old
high school teacher, squatting
beside the cardboard box
where he’ll be spending the night.
His breath haloes in the cold.
I don’t know him.
My dog licks him in the face
as if she did.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
A laden table, warmth between the walls.
People who greet me by name.
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