M&M Motel

A few  years ago we tried to help a family at Christmas.  We were in the habit of doing things for the oldest daughter as she was in a class where I read regularly.  On a Sunday we picked her up to take her for ice cream, we realized as we entered their house, there were holes  in the floor where you could see the dirt below.  This poem is about the Christmas after their eviction from the house.  Eventually, the mom and dad separated, and she started a better life in another state with her children   The poem is based on reality since I visited them once at the motel (obviously not the one shown here).  I thought this might be appropriate soon after we celebrated the New Year.

The M & M Motel
December 22.
Six children,
a flu infected father
self-medicating with alcohol,
a tattered petite blond mother,
and a scraggly tree
clog a Grade B motel room.
December 24.
Bought by Mom
with a church person's money,
a brown bag of gifts leans beside the washer
in the motel's lint-lined laundry room.
Father holds a cigarette above the bed
like a candle
for his contribution to
the spirit of the season.
December 31.
Father's gone -
job down East.
Children play
outside Rm. 17
 on frozen dirt.
The oldest, only eleven,
has her turn
with the flu.
Happy New Year, Mom.

Dan W. Moore