Sonnet 24: Florida Motel

By Aurin Squire

Front desk alias, split cash tab before
Side of Florida highway, cars shake the walls
Wedged splintered door into damp carpet floor
Slipped passed clerk when he reached for night calls

Red vomit in the bathtub wafts a stench
Our Previous was an alcoholic
We threw our jeans on the bench
Swallowed our fast food and held in the sick

We both knew a bad disease in progress
Spontaneity sapped and the thrill is dead
But we went ahead, no time to regress
Ramming the thin wall with the motel bed

Sighing back to his car we didn’t talk
Head slung low, the Florida motel walk