I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago, and it is definitely a first draft. Or an only draft. But it’s the most recent poem I’ve written so I thought I would throw it out there to the wolves to see if you like it or hate it.
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Fairfield Inn and Suites A mediocre room is cacophonous The mini-fridge has a busted, burbling cooling unit and The springs of the bed next door need oil. The bathroom light buzzes and Even the writer’s pen scritch-scritches too loudly on her paper. Either one’s children are too far away or too close and The light too bright or too dim. The bed! Too large, too small, too hard, too soft Too scratchy but never too supple And all because the writer is alone.