page 174

Motel

I came back to the motel about eleven,
A little drunk after dining with
Half a dozen school friends—people
I hadn't seen for thirty-seven years,
Six of us, and two with their wives.
I walked onto the dark grass between
The motel and the near invisible sea.

My mind was swimming. I sat on a bench
Rounding the black trunk of a tree,
Floodlights pointing behind me, looking
Into the night, towards the water,
The beat of the waves. We who were
Boys, boarding together for nine or ten years,
Were men. And not young men either.

We spoke of the death of one man's wife,
Of the wife of another being treated
For cancer, not merely old times. It was
Some time later when two couples arrived
At the ground level units behind me,
Those facing the beach. I saw them
Talking, turn lights on, draw the curtains.

After a while a woman came out wrapped
In a white bath towel, low on her breasts, high
On her thighs, holding a glass. She walked
To the edge of the lawn, where a low fence
Marked out the beach. She stood a moment
There, turned back and stood next to me.
'I'd like to stay out here all night,'
She said. There are no explanations for life.