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The Riverside Motel

Posted to Poetry




The Riverside Motel

Jimmy Gatorface-
Sets foot-
Into room 309-
At the Riverside Motel-
Off of Route 1.
There are serious matters-
To be discussed-
The general state of things-
Is dismal.
Unholy holy tunes-
Are emenating-
From brown speakers-
A Chinaman-
Resembling Houdini-
Passes our window-
And glances inside.
Jim produces-
A half pint bottle of Fighting Cock-
From his peacoat-
And lights a cigarette.
"First drag tastes like death...", he says.
The stench of decomposing garbage-
Penetrates the room.
Jim stares at the wall
And starts talking to himself:
"Cross my heart and hope to die-
The worlds on fire-
And there ain't no water 'round-
We're at war-
And we're armed with nuthin' but shovels."