Room 214

He’s breathing like a broken saw

while the A/C chews on a mouthful of grit.

I’m following some unspoken law

of staying when I ought to quit.

I pulled the drawer to find a match

and found the Gideon instead.

The binding has a yellow patch

from where a coffee cup was fed.

It’s open to the same old verse

about the wife and the secret bed.

I trace the words like a silent curse,

or a story that’s already been read.

There’s a burn in the spread, a tiny pit

where someone let a cherry fall.

I’m sitting right in the middle of it.

I don't feel anything at all.