Dear Vacancy,
You’ve
remained on the buzzing
neon
sign at the Driftwood Inn
on
Red Arrow Highway for so long now
that
folks
might
start to wonder
if
you secretly
own
the
place:
the
sandlot out front where
stray
cats like to scratch,
and
yellowed bones
of
beech trees near that ditch
by
the road. The shutters
on
the windows?
They’re
fake, and look, one’s
fallen
off. Blue
paint
on the doors, it tears away
like
strips of paper;
the
only rented rooms
are
the yellowjacket nests.
