Don’t Die in a Motel Toilet By PW Covington

Coughing, out of breath
On a motel toilet
Brownsville border Texas
Can’t catch my breath
Hacking, chopping
Strong sativa on top of speedball
Cough
Can’t catch my breath

Don’t die in a motel toilet
Don’t die in a motel toilet
Deny the bastards
Their fucking cliché
Don’t die on a motel toilet
It’s a mantra

As I piss in fits and starts, sitting
The edges of the waterroom go dark
Do not die in a motel toilet
All road poet kicks and diatribes, aside
I cling to that mantra
Don’t die in a motel toilet

…and I don’t die
I catch my breath
And the lights come back
And I wipe my balls
And the ring in the tip
And stand up
Slowly

Flush and cross the room
Step out onto the humid midnight balcony
Avoiding mirrors
And hit
That jay
One more time

Before sleep

  PW Covington writes in the Beat tradition of the North American highway.
He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, two blocks north of Historic Route 66.