Room: 215
“ROOM 215”
ash outlines,
the bodies of cigarettes.
dry grass is a pillow
for the homeless.
street lamps,
air conditioners with
guards,
the paramedic waiting for the
green light,
digital advertising,
bump moans from neighbors in
connecting rooms,
sprinklers watch me from
above,
cars race the freeway like
doves out of Hell,
the moon is at the bar
inside this city.
the world's finest paid
$50 to drink,
smoke,
cough,
weep and bump in private.
dollar dispenser lives rent
on three floors.
the roadrunner stays.
I dodge rain drops from
the mouth above me.
city life at $50,
$49.99 would've sold me.
tomorrow morning's coffee
will be cold.
By: Chicano Eddie
10-14-2016
Copyright © Chicano Eddie | Year Posted 2016
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