pretty. Maybe I’ll agree, come morning.
So far it looks like Arizona did
at night. Miles and miles of
dark emptiness. A starlit vacuum.
Trey pulls into a dive of a motel.
Hope the beds have clean
sheets. The room is claustrophobic.
And ice-cube cold. I flip on the heat, go
to pee in a closet-sized bathroom.
Trey’s going out for fast food, asks for
my order. I beg off. “Too tired to eat.
And I don’t feel so hot. You could
bring me some bottled water, though.”
I throw back the covers for inspection.
The sheets look okay, so I crawl
into bed. Tired. Real tired. So why does
it take forever to fall asleep? How do
I shut off my brain? What have
I done? What will tomorrow bring?
A THIN BEAM OF LIGHT
Ray guns my eyes, and I jump
up into early gray morning.
Where am I? I’m not alone.
Someone is snoring? Oh. Trey.
It all comes tidal waving back.
New Mexico. Cheesy motel room.
Cadillac outside the door. Smell.
What’s that smell? I glance around
the room, notice the Taco Bell
bag, and wrappers, gooey with