"Lying on a Motel Bed in Gallup, NM" by Kevin Grauke

My room’s view is of a Home Depot at the base of a giant American flag dying violently in the

sunset. Perched against more pillows than anybody could ever need, I’m drinking the last can of a

six-pack bought at a nearby grocery store that also stocked shelves of tequila, which seems sadistic,

considering the demographics of this dusty city. There are no birds in the sky. I haven’t seen one

all day, in fact. Only trash lifts in the wind and comes to rest, lifts and rests. I can’t hear anything

but the air conditioner, which I’ve set as low as it will go just because I can. My old body hurts

from having started the day in Amarillo, and the day before that in Texarkana. Even though I’m

taking my time to get to where I’m going, the days are long and exhausting, the same as all other

days. In the dark TV screen across the room, I see my reflection, a shadow within a shadow. I tilt

my head back like a baby bird and pour the last of the beer down my throat onto my dinner lump

of burritos. While I wait for numb darkness to tuck me in, I watch the trucks and cars driving in

and out of the parking lot, shoring up their own various ruins with pressure-treated lumber and

propane grills.

Kevin Grauke has published work in such places as The Threepenny Review, The Southern Review, Quarterly West, Ninth Letter, and Cimarron Review. He’s the author of the short story collection Shadows of Men (Queen’s Ferry Press). Bullies & Cowards is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press in 2026. He teaches at La Salle University and lives in Philadelphia.