Listening to mozart on my iphone
at night, after a work conference,
I have returned to my home town.
Staying in a motel my mother used to clean
she worked hard at a hard job.
As a child I would spend hours in the laundry with her,
the smell of linen and hot air,
the cold feeling of strangers.
Tonight there are voices seeping through the walls
the same old sounds
that come with motels.
The road busy with cars,
the drunks singing in view of CCTV.
I wonder if I am paying too high a price
for a life like this.