Sleepless in the motel room

It is three eighteen am.

Lumpy mattress on the bed

Rock hard pillow neath my head.

 Small clock radio in sight

 Ghostly in forty watt light.

 God a new number at last

 Three eighteen has just flipped past.

I have the first morning flight

My alarm is set for five. 

I feel my heart still beating

So I know I am alive.

Finally I cannot stand it

I get up at half past four.

Then I make myself ready

And gladly head out the door.

The lobby is deserted

There is no coffee around.

Just a caustic accountant

With a supercilious frown

I pay the bill get my car

For the bleak five miles ride.

Where I give it up to Hertz

And finally get inside.

There are still hours to go

But I did survive the pain.

Until much later tonight

When I do it all again.

Raymond Morrow