Brave the Storm

Poetry

It was supposed to be just a pit stop on the way

until the storm warning came out on the radio,

so Sally and Ernest stopped at the one motel

that blinked alive from the highway exit.

The rain dashed against their windshield, pattering,

as the two exchanged a glance that held more meaning

than a stray conversation in the shadows might have had.

He pulled in, lips taut, while she let out a sigh

before lighting up a cigarette before they went in.

The cherry light at the end of her fingertips

was the same hue as the “VACANCY” sign

burning in the dredge of rainwater and night.

Ernest tapped the bell on the front desk, ching-ching,

while Sally frowned at the yellowed walls and brown carpet

as her nostrils flared at the smells of mildew and sweat.

A man with a sloppy toupee came behind the counter

and grinned a smile with chipped teeth that Sally saw

were the same shade as the walls behind her.