Who had this room before? Last night, let's say--
young lovers, having told their parents lies
to steal off on a secret getaway,
covered by pseudonyms and alibis
And sheets smelling of bleach? And was the sun
blocked by vinyl-lined curtains thick with dust?
Was that star spanked and spurred and made to run,
racing the fire-fueled engine of their lust?
Or did the soap-streaked bathroom mirror see
a pair of children jumping on the beds,
their folks exasperated, old as we,
gray hairs comically windswept on their heads--
Negotiating quiet for ice cream,
and hoping like all hell the sheets are clean?
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