I've been in a thousand cheap hotel rooms.
The faucets drip and drive me insane.
I hate the rusted toilet bowls.
I hate the musty smelling carpets, and blankets.
I hate the rodents and bedbugs.
I've signed my name as "John Smith" a thousand times.
I've carried in my own luggage, usually a duffel bag.
I've opened a cheap bottle of whiskey...
and poured its contents into a dirty glass....
a thousand times.
I've peered at the paint peeling off of a thousand walls.
I've pounded on tv's that never worked.
I've read a-thousand Bibles, and found no relief.
There is not relief, in cheap hotel rooms.
I've listened to noise outside my door.
I've listened to sadness, violence, and passion.
The walls are paper thin, in cheap hotel rooms.
I've heard, 'Give it to me harder', a thousand times.
"Yeah, that's right baby, harder!"...
inside of my head...and inside of some floozie.
I hear the incessant pounding of a head board...
against my wall.
These are the perks to enjoy in cheap hotel rooms.
It gives me no relief.
My aloneness, my grief, my life...
To be cocooned by drab, green drapes.
At least they keep the light out.
They hang over dirty windows, doing a good job hiding me.
Sometimes there's silence, no solace, just me.
I ponder my next move, in cheap hotel rooms.
I bag up my laundry.
I put the stinky stuff in plastic bags.
It's like hiding little corpses.
I open the door to freedom.
I have the whole-wide-world at my feet.
I have a half-pack of cigarettes.
They are crushed.
I enter a car that should have died...
A long time ago.
It's parked in front of my cheap hotel room.
I roll the windows down.
I light up a smoke.
I take a toke.
Onward, onward, onward, I go.
I go to a destiny...I'll never know.
Why or how I arrived.
The mile markers change...
Yet I remain the same.
I have on my shades.
To keep the light out.
The hot sun is oppresive.
The sun is the giver of life.
I've had my fill of it.
Onward, onward i go...
I have half-a-tank of gas...
I can't let it get too low...
On my twisted trip...
To the next cheap hotel room.
I finally arrive, it's late in the day.
I confront another desk clerk.
He's defiant, underpaid.
His eyes are on me now...
Sizing me up.
I know he's a jerk.
I give him a smirk.
I sign in again.
'Jim Dandy' is my name...
He'll only take cash.
I don't blame him.
I forgive him and the world...
As i aimlessly gain yardage toward...
My last cheap hotel room.
from: Chicago Stories and Other Thoughts from a Working Class Guy...available on Amazon.com