in a Ramada, a Radisson
for twenty dollars more
bugs hide a little
better than they do
in Super 8, Motel 6
but still     bite still
leave        that itch
like the backseat, the front seat
the tailgate where the bottles
sat, shone like
florescence of that bathroom
in that gas station
in Holbrook
where the cashier had the same
stained hands, dirty mustache
as the manager of that motel
in Killeen
where Texas smells
the same as Phoenix did
that afternoon we threw
your shit on a flatbed headed
for Gallup
for that room upstairs
for that room
                downstairs
where                   I           waited
for Louisiana, Baghdad
to be through with him
like he was through with me
out the window I
watch                  leaves struggle
fight to unfold
to fake color
to forgive frost
for being
     for being
          for being