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I sense anger – burning anger – from down the hall.
I’ve been staying in this
decaying mess of a hotel for almost
three weeks now, and I feel this anger,
smoldering, flaming up,
slowly consuming the last of the shell
of the woman it lives in.
Her husband left years ago.
Her and the kids.
With no job and no money they live here –
pinning old memories on the cracked walls of their living room;
watching as the rats tear into their discount cereal boxes.
She has nowhere to go.
So, she sits, and thinks, and takes revenge in her mind.
And as the anger burns,
her soul begins to crumble like the walls in her living room.
This poem © Kevin Walker. Published August 2012.
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