The Mouse Palace Hotel

THE MOUSE PALACE MOTEL 

“I work all day, and get 
half-drunk at night.”
—Philip Larkin, Aubade
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They gave up on me a long time ago—
I’m the shambling Mouse Motel Wreck

Out there on East Sixth & Union—
My heyday was way back then in 1949
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Now I wake at four to soundless dark—
I stare at the curtain-edges growing light
  
Till then I see what’s really always there—
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now
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Making all thought impossible but how—
And where and when I shall myself die

Arid interrogations, the dread of dying—
and being dead, flashes afresh to horrify
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The mind blanks at the glare of day—
In remorse, good not done, love not given
   
Torn off unused wretchedly because—
Only life can take so long to kick the bucket
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All the wrong beginnings that never end—
next the total emptiness lasting forever

The sure extinction that we travel to—
The Mouse Motel out there on Sixth Avenue
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Shall we be always lost, not to be here—
Not to be there, not to be anywhere?

This is a special kind of being afraid—
No trick dispels the Mouse Motel Miasma
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Religion used to try, its vast moth-eaten—
Musical brocade created to just pretend

Nor the stately, elegant Plumb Mansion—
With the Grand Army of the Republic ladies
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Pounding away at the piano and singing—
JOHN BROWN’S BODY RISEN FROM THE GRAVE

Now a nice home for young unwed mothers—
Displaced by the great Athens of the Midwest
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At least the Plumb Mansion has a future—
Illegitimate life is certainly better than none

But look at me poor destitute Mouse Motel—
All I have left is my vagrant Hwy 50 memories
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We never die, it’s specious stuff that says no—
Only decaying mansions know the awful truth

Rational beings fear a thing it cannot see—
Not seeing that this is what we all fear so
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No sight, no sound, no touch, taste or smell—
nothing to think with, nothing to love with

The Anesthetic from which none come round—
And so it stays just on the edge of our vision
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A small unfocused blur, a standing chill—
That slows each impulse down to indecision
  
Most things may never happen, this one will—
And realization of it stages all our fears
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We’re caught without People or Drink—
Courage is no good, screaming doesn’t help

It means not scaring others even though—
Some are heard crying out as lost ghosts
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Being brave lets no one off the hook—
Death’s indifferent to whining and kvetching

Slowly light strengthens, the room takes—  
Shape plain as a Motel Vacancy Sign
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What do I know about anything really—
I’ve always known only that I can’t escape
  
I accept being a rundown old Mansion—
The Mouse Motel here by Sixth Avenue
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Someday I’ll just simply have to go—
People in Emporia downtown won’t care

The Emporia world begins to forget—
The Kansas sky turns pale white as clay