American Life in Poetry

Sun., Aug. 2, 2015

Ted Kooser U.S. poet laureate, 2004-06

The following is just one of three fine poems John Drury, who lives and teaches in Ohio, has written about the summer jobs he had when young. Many of us have thought, with him, “So this is experience,” though we might have added a question mark. His most recent book of poems is “Sea Level Rising,” published by Able Muse Press.

Motor Lodge

“So this is it, experience,” I thought,

lugging tin buckets from the ice machines

to rooms of real adults with cigarettes,

mixed drinks in plastic cups, and proffered coins.

I reached out for their blessings, but the tips

were nothing next to rumpled, unmade beds

at four in the afternoon, women in slips

and men in t-shirts while the TV played.

Down in the laundry room, I counted sheets,

stunned by the musk that vanished in the wash,

and balled up soggy towels that down the chutes

exploded in bins. Before the evening rush,

avid and timid for what I glimpsed at work,

I left, hanging my gold vest on a hook.

Poem copyright 2000 by John Philip Drury from “The Disappearing Town” (Miami University Press, 2000), and reprinted by permission of the author and publisher. American Life in Poetry is supported by the Poetry Foundation and the English department at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. We do not accept unsolicited submissions.