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Poetry
(rd king dot net)poetry and digital art
American Summer
Poems written while traveling.
By the Motel Pool
Outside the windows of room 313, by the door to 319, young palms are in bloom. The round wall thermometer reads ninety-eight degrees. Most of the guests seem quite sure of what to do. The middle-aged woman in the white and blue swimsuit slips out of her thongs and walks down the white, glimmering steps into the pool. Gold hoop earrings. Her sunglasses and sun scarf. Yet the retired couple can't stop rubbing lotion into their skin while a man talks with a woman on a chaise lounge, and scratches his chest. In a white uniform, stockings, and shoes, the indian maid stares. From the third-floor balcony she stares down at the pool. back | ToC | next
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