most anywhere that's fairly quiet,
fairly clean, doesn't reek with
nicotine and tar that's taken residence
within the fibers of the insulated drapes.
Plump pillows are a plus, an A/C that
is functional, and I don't think it's asking
too much, is it, for the towels to be there
when I arrive? The things about motels that I have
found more places than remembered,
though, is something curious: the paintings.
Take note the next time you are on a trip.
I'd bet you money that the prints (and some
aren't bad) hanging there above both beds
are twins, cookie-cutter scenes, but why?
And if you go a bit beyond, spring for a king,
the twin to what is looking o'er the headboard
will be hanging somewhere close as if there
is a law in hotel management that says the art must
always hang in pairs. Does every room in this
motel, for instance, have the people on the beach,
walking with umbrellas, wearing suits and dresses,
or does each contain a different set of doubles.
Would the maids get fired for mixing them? Is there
a factory somewhere far away in which a group
of artists sits and paints scene after scene, some good,
some horrid, dreaming of the day they check in somewhere
off the beaten path, walk in, set down their bags,
exclaim, "Oh, look! That's one of mine!"
Well...actually, two.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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