roadtrip vacation west
Marie Kazalia
when I was 17
my mother took me and my
one year younger sister
and 10 year younger brother
on a road trip across the west
all 4 of us in the back seat
of my Aunt Esther&Uncle Harold’s
humongous American-made air-conditioned
monstrosity--
stopping every nite to stay in some motel room
in the morning hurrying
to keep Uncle Harold’s “time made”
driving schedule--
my mother did the same thing every morning
stopped at the motel room door on her way out--
turned, surveyed the unmade beds
wet motel towels
raised both her hands then swatted them down
as if pushing something away
out of her mind--
I’d groan in disgusted teen fashion
or leave ahead of her to miss the ritual
roll my eyes
not bothering to tell her out-loud
one more time
the maid would change the sheets
and towels anyway
thinking how my mother never gave-a-shit
at home if I changed my bed-sheets or not
or if there were a ton of damp towels to wash--
then back to the road
too long
too fast
gone
another motel room
morning
the same thing--
