De Profundis, Ramada Inn Shelbyville
The him that spoke to others
had impeccable manners. Easygoing,
friendly tone. Lucid. The concierge said
there’s something around the eyes,
it makes you think twice.
The lady said, I’ve thought twice about him
many a time. A young girl ran through in a
towel. Families came in from the city,
mostly for the pool. At breakfast the next
morning he would giggle,
calling her name,
point,
whisper
waffle maker. Neither of them dared
to use it. A little girl told the lady
she’d never met anyone as nice as her
and she supposed it must have been
the easy going way
she said she’d help her get the tiny
styrofoam plate she was striving for. Oh,
here, I’ll grab it for you. Like she was a
person,
not a child. The night before she had
held the beer to his lips, wiped it from his
chin, wiped it where it spilled down his
back.
He said thank you, she said of course.
He was tied to the bed, after all.
In the morning she had put on love songs
and read about the killing of dogs. There
was a part where a woman was begging
someone to help her with a city ordinance
that would kill her dog and she said
I’m not good at expressing myself in
writing. But maybe someone can help
me.
The lady held the man, who was not
sleeping. She said
— my book is sad.
He said — I’m sorry and he took her hand.
She felt the thick flannel of his shirt. She
felt the rough skin of his hand. She felt his
breath, the slow rhythm of his broad back,
slow against her belly,
a censer slowly swaying:
de profundis, exaudi
vocum meum.
They were so tired, but did not fall asleep.
Housekeeping was already waiting outside
the door.
