Midnight In Hotel Rooms

Lying under 
starchy white comforters, 
listening to the 
air conditioner hum
its own sweet
melody. 

My mom
fiddling with the 
chunky black radio,
turning and turning
the knob
until
the clinky static
gives way to 
soft music. 

Unfamiliar voices 
filter through like
dust particles,
gently, almost
invisibly, 
and then
the light shines 
on them and 
they're all you
can see. 

Soft, kind words, 
from an unknown
mouth, 
whispered and 
murmured as the 
neon numbers 
grow higher, 
climbing the 
ferris wheel 
until they 
reach the peak:

Midnight. 

There's something
so sacred and 
treasured about
midnight in hotel rooms.

The moon is 
kissing the dark-dark 
sky, 
the stars are aglow.

Maybe a door or 
two slam shut on
your floor, 
people hurriedly 
trying to get 
to their rooms
and go to sleep. 

They've traveled 
for hours- 
days, maybe. 

Far from home, 
they can't
wait to lie
down under the 
starchy white comforter
and listen to
unfamiliar voices
murmur about
tuning in to 90.5 
for more classical music. 

It's what hotel rooms
are for, 
after all.