June 24: "Bad Hotel," Head Lice, "Lake Superior Sunrise Poetry Reading"

Billy Collins should check for bedbugs . . . 

Bad Hotel

by: Billy Collins

I told the woman

from housekeeping,

who was eager to do my room,

to just come in

and pretend I'm not here,

which is exactly 

what I had been doing

ever since I checked in.

When traveling, we've all stayed in rooms that look like breeding grounds for head lice.  Most of the time when checking in, before I even unpack my clothes, I check the mattresses and dressers for creepy crawlies.  In one instance, because of a drawer full of many-legged creatures, we received an upgrade to a suite with five bedrooms, two Jacuzzis, a kitchen, four TVs, and a huge balcony.  This place was probably reserved for U. S. Presidents, rock stars, and Clarence Thomas on "vacation."

As part of my job at the library, I frequently book rooms for visiting writers and presenters.  Because I live in the area, I know which hotels are good and which ones should be flea bombed.  As a visiting poet myself, I've had rooms booked for me by my hosts, and, generally, I've had positive experiences.  There's only been a couple times where I've been tempted to sleep in my car instead.

However, I always appreciate the efforts at hospitality.  Reading poetry at a library is a privilege.  Getting paid to share my poems, a blessing.  A free hotel room and continental breakfast, bonus on top of bonus.  Poets don't usually command a whole lot of money or resources for public appearances.  I semi-joke that I'm used to getting paid in brownies and wine.

This morning, I found myself standing on the shores of Lakes Superior at sunrise.  It was one of those rare occasions where I was asked to read at a public event.  Because I was selected as Writer of the Year by the City of Marquette last October, I was commissioned to compose a poem for the opening of Art Week.

So, at 5:45 a.m., there I was with a group of about 12 or 14 people on the beach, watching the sun unzip the horizon.  And, as the water began to shimmer and spark, I read the poem I'd written.  It was an incredibly moving experience.  Elemental.  My voice mixing with waves and seagulls.  I'm not sure if everybody felt the same, but I felt part of something sacred.

And Saint Marty didn't even have to check his body for ticks or lice afterward.

Lake Superior Sunrise Poetry Reading

by: Martin Achatz

I recite my words just before

the sun takes the stage,

seagull screams nearly drowning

out my voice as if I'm opening

for John, Paul, George, and Ringo

on The Ed Sullivan Show.