Escapism in a Motel Pool, Circa 1977.
It’s a weightless delirium.
Splayed atop the water in a back float,
the sluggish neon current stirs your hair, rings in
Evaporating chemicals simmer low.
The chipped duplex stacked above
is hazed in blue
and those sleazy bulbs in the VACANCY sign
you take ages to sink.
When your foot finally
Meets concrete, you balance
wonder if this is what it’s like
to be a
A water-logged fly meanders past.
Propel yourself back upward, spring-boarding from the
The night air is colder than it was before;
You shudder as your head breaks the surface,
as your hands grip the faux-granite ledge.
Acrid chlorine dribbles down your lip.
The last nickel of pocket change is gone—
spent on that useless phone call—and
tomorrow, you’ll have to hitchhike.
Anyone’s guess how long till the coast.