October 2008 / Volume 8 / Issue Three
Marty Lloyd
Montgomery Motel Blues

There is a place where all wasted minutes come to rest,
The mass of this discarded time rivals stars,
This is Montgomery, Alabama Feb. 27, 2008 12:15 AM
And I am one minute away from adding to the onslaught,
The motel faucet drips out the seconds,
While outside black lakes swallow the parking lot,
Out there the underground market is booming as speed and corruption are commodities untouched by recession

Montgomery, Alabama Feb 27 2008 12:24 AM
and I am one minute away from joining the dogs,
Halting my careless betrayals for more careful ones,
My cigarette burns thin,
As the faucet drips out,
And this beer slugs itself down my gully,
Montgomery Alabama won’t know me long and this is the last I wish to know of her,
In this place where minutes know themselves wasted,
Never forget where they’ve been,
Muse in listful silence of
vacant, ticking lament
Like yesterday’s usefulness of today’s trash,
These minutes are the projects of the bored,

In Montgomery Alabama Feb. 27, 2008 12:38 AM
A rebel flag is tattooed every 5 hours onto folks who don’t care much for history,
And at any time the messiah could show up in an oil spot, or burnt toast.
I read once that the majority of accidents in Alabama were due to illiteracy,
And true to form, this was not characterized as an education problem but an immigration problem,

Montgomery Alabama, Feb. 27 2008, 12:45 AM
and I am one minute away from slandering the dogs with my new Jesus swagger.
Bought it in the gift shop for 4.99, marked down from 6.99,
Now protects me from boonie back woods hoods

Montgomery Alabama, Feb. 27, 2008 2:29 AM
I am now finishing off the six pack,
I jerked off to the naked parts of a horror flick,
ate a microwaved hamburger,
and now have documented this betrayal of time and efficiency,
So that when the judgment comes down as to whose minutes were wasted and whose not,
none can accuse me of the latter,
My minutes weigh in with the rest,
With the forlorn reminiscence,
With the petty battles,
With the rebel flag tattoos,
And the Alabama immigration policy,

My minutes go to join the rest in the place where all wasted minutes go
to fill in potholes like black lakes in the parking lot
Our minutes fog windows on cold nights,
But that’s alright, Jack
Let ’em go,
In Montgomery Alabama,
Where minutes are gone before you get there.