I was due for a shower. So
I pulled up to a little motel,
the Wagon Wheel or some such,
in some dusty Nevada town,
and as I trudged across the parking lot
with my leather jacket and scruffy beard,
a red bandana tied around my head,
the big old Harley cooling in the sun,
I saw, behind the office window,
a pale, slender arm reach down
and turn the Vacancy sign around
to No Vacancy.

​

O owner of the pale slender arm!
I have not forgotten you!
From thirty years down
that desert highway, from this life
of subcommittee meetings 
and colonoscopies,
not to mention mortgage payments
and dental bills (braces
for both kids)—I’d just like to say
thank you—thank you!—for finding me
unkempt, and possibly smelly,
and for making me feel, 
however briefly,
bad ass.