Night Clerk (Prompt:Poem about a Type of Person)

Dale always worked

the Wednesday night shift

at the Gold Star Motor Lodge

off the freeway

close to her house.

He was old enough

to comb his hair into

a perfect Brylcreem part,

and he wore

an anachronistic red bow tie.

He looked as kind as a pastor

and as conservative

as an accountant.

Every Wednesday at 6pm

I’d check in

and there was Dale,

“Good evening, Mr. Moskowitz.

You need a single?”

Smiling,

I’d nod, trying not to be embarrassed.

He’d run my credit card.

I’d pretend to check my phone,

and avoid eye contact

if there were

other waiting for their rooms.

Handing me the key

he’d direct me to my room,

even though it was

the same one

I rented every Wednesday.

At 9pm

when she had to go back to her family,

I’d walk her back to her car and then

swing by the office to turn in my key,

love-tipsy and swaggering.

Dale would look up from his

crossword puzzle, smiling

like this was the first time.

“Checking out, sir?”

Again, I nodded.

“Well, we hope you’ll come back

and stay with us again.”

Perfect.

Friendly, but not familiar.

He must’ve seen my kind

a hundred times a month,

but he had enough

discretion and honor

for the two of us,

which was perfect

seeing as I had none myself.