The Vile Nasty Motel Room Poem by James McLain

One lazy summer night,
I checked into a sketchy highway-side motel.
The night was warm and moist,
And the moon was full.
Magnolia trees had long since dropped,
Their bloom's.
Walking through the room I found was.
As I laugh and can't forget.
The room was literally covered in lube,
Explicit grandma magazines were strown
Across the bed.
And a plethora of used dildos in every drawer.
A dildo in one drawer,
was half-dead and still vibrating, across
The drawer.
On the wall was an old,
autographed photograph of Charles Bukowski
Hanging crooked on the wall.