There is being alone…and then there is being alone in a cheap hotel room. Truth opens that door and wants to chat.
Katherine Johnson-Ficklen is a native New Mexican who took a six year hiatus in Boston. She puts her MFA to good use working as a barista.
In a Hotel Room in Texas, Alone
The first thing I did was take off my jeans,
attempt to admire myself under florescent lights.
Even squinting, it was not sexy.
Jacuzzi tub in the corner of the bedroom,
for a seedy and probably sticky romp
from dirt ringed tub to unwashed bedcovers.
What did I do? I made a phone call.
The only man I’ve never been able to forget.
I was alone, his girlfriend, out of town.
Our conversation, light, about music and our dogs mostly.
Even after ten years, silences, loaded,
until finally “you still there?”
But there is nothing sexy when you are alone,
about a hotel room with a Jacuzzi tub in the corner
of the bedroom, in Humble Texas at midnight.
Even with your jeans off.
Poetry submissions are welcome. Email email@example.com.