The Breakers Motel

The name is, perhaps, misleading,

suggesting more pleasant scenes

than the gritty panorama one sees

when passing through Ocean View.

*

At one time it had been

family friendly, a nice place

where decent citizens came

to spend a weekend, splashing in the surf.

*

A smattering of motels remain,

grim shells of their former selves,

interspersed among the 7-Elevens,

liquor stores and pawn shops.

*

This one is my favorite

and I’ve lived in a few.

It’s as much a refuge

as a place of business.

*

Hookers don’t bring their tricks home

and the dealers hawk their wares

somewhere else, not right here,

though neighbors sometimes rate a favor.

*

The water still laps at the shore

mere yards away, behind us,

but you’d be crazy to swim in it,

or cross that no-man’s-land that was once a beach.

*

Street View would be a better name.

That’s where the real focus is

these days. The sidewalk displaced the boardwalk.

Carnival atmosphere morphed into freak show.

*

I sit outside in my lawn chair

if it’s not too hot, from the weather or the cops,

checking the action on the boulevard,

thinking how strange things look

*

cast in the glow of the neon sign,

flickering like a homing beacon

for the wayward soul,

offering the only hope available in these parts.

*

Vacancy.