You don’t want to eat your depression,
but the kitchen staff gave you extra portions.
You’d skip the room with its uncomfortable bed,
except the doorman at Depression Arms
swung the glass wide, said, Welcome, welcome.
When you drift off at last, you’d avoid the courtesy
wake-up call, the continental breakfast
with its desperation-scrambled eggs &
toaster waffles already cold & limp
as depression. You don’t want the tour,
riding that bland bus to visit sites
you’ve passed before. Yet you continue
traveling. You take an unpaved road at night,
rocks crunching gunshots under tires.
I wish I could say it will be all right,
close the door & slow your expedition once,
but you’ve booked it, bought your ticket.
All I can do is help you with your bags.
Ace Boggess is author of four books of poetry, most recently I Have Lost the Art of Dreaming It So (Unsolicited Press, 2018) and Ultra Deep Field (Brick Road Poetry Press, 2017). His writing has appeared in Harvard Review, Notre Dame Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Rhino, and many other journals. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia.
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