Ode to the Brown Grout Motel

Slept in your bed last night.
You are one springy experience.
You make Motel 6 look like the Ritz:
thin sheets and blankets,
no heat, no wifi,
40 watt light bulbs,
TV from the 80s that doesn't work,
noises that could be from the early draft
of a Charles Ives symphony,
and mysterious smells that lingered in my hair,
which I didn't wash because the shower didn't work.
No problem.
I liked the short walk to Wendy's,
a late night breakfast sandwich to go,
which I washed down with beer and a shot of Old Crow
as I sat at the desk
and read the Bible left by the Gideons.
What is the hell is a Gideon?
“And God made the firmament, and divided the waters
which were under the firmament from the waters
which were above the firmament:
and it was so.”
What the hell is a firmament?
I liked the sounds of lovers
when I cupped my ear to the wall.
Did I say "lovers?"
That's what I thought at first,
but later realized it was one guy
making love to himself,
but that's okay,
self-service is better than no service,
a can't lose proposition at the Brown Grout Motel.
I'll always remember your last words,
as I wrapped the lumpy pillow around my head:
Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite.