Wi-Fi, free coffee, cable, internet—
who would stay otherwise, other than me,
besides the shapely blonde whose eyes and mine
met equally at open gates of sin?

A painting of a homestead above the bed—
cows at pasture, the chickens in the run,
bonneted woman tending to the fields
who has no business being in this room.

Been here a week. The room next door in need
of turnstile, many passing through both night
and afternoon. I hesitate to go
outside to smoke a half-left cigarette.

I leave one misery and find another one
just up the highway, only to return
and find a lot of flashing lights, a blonde
with her back turned, a host of vacant rooms.