Hotels

The hotel room is a blank canvas,
Painted on by many, only to
Be wiped clean with strong chemicals
Upon the departure of the artist.

The paintings are various portraits:
Of lovers
Of secrets
Of ideas
Of lonlieness
Of despair.

Some portraits are completed by
Check-out time.
Others are unfinished works
That can't be completed,
But rather a new painting
Is started
When the artist finds a new hotel.

The portraits are rarely viewed
By anyone but the housekeeping staff
Who can look at the works in progress
And feel the emotions
The anticipation,
The excitement,
The passion,
The disappointment,
The finality.

Then the linens are replaced,
The furniture reset,
And the bathroom sanitized,
As the canvas awaits
Its next painter.

©2014 Edward Branley

Budweiser

In these days of microbrews
Craft beers,
Brewpubs,
Growlers,
And local samplers,
The humble Budweiser
Of our youth
Is often forgotten.

Yes, the hoppy taste
Of the local IPA,
Or the crisp bite
Of the super-cold Pilsner
Make us smile,
As they pair up nicely
With a meal,
Or an occasion,
Possibly even a liaison.

No matter how chocolaty the stout
Or authentic the cask ale.
No matter how imaginative the name
Of the local lager,
Nothing can quite compare
To that first Budweiser.

Whether it was knocked back
Along the river,
Out at the lake,Budweiser
Or in a parking lot,
After a satisfying practice,
Where everyone marched in step,
That cold can of Bud
Stays in the memory,
Transforming the old man
Right back to the fourteen-year old.

©2014 Edward Branley

Privacy

We say we value our privacy,
Expressing outrage that the government
Is able to listen in on our phones,
Read our email
And look at the photos
We take more and more often
Now that all to many of us
Carry a camera everywhere we go.

For all of our outrage,
We still come back on the grid
In the hopes that the ex
Will see we're doing OK without them
Or to make sure they're miserable
Without us.

We don't want to talk to people
With whom we went to high school,
But we want them to know,
We're still here,
And we're not living
In a van down by the river.

There are times
When someone we don't want to know
Our deepest secrets
Discovers them online.
We then rush to wipe the grid clean
Of our presence,
Only to return in some new form
So we can make sure that person
Knows what we are willing to reveal
About our lives,
About our dreams,
About our desires.

Because it wouldn't satisfying
If all we did was ignore them.

©2014 Edward Branley

On the Virtues of Tequila

Tequila is so much more
Than shots
To be consumed
With salt and lime.

Tequila is so much more
Than the alcohol
In a Margarita,
Frozen or on the rocks.

Tequila is a gateway
To the appreciation and
Consumption of quality whiskey.

Sipping a fine Añejo
On a sunny spring afternoon,
Confident that clothes
Will not fall off,
But happiness will abound.

©2014 Edward Branley