Fourteen-stories of hotel towered
over downtown Minneapolis;
the massive pine by our back drive
stretched nearly to the tenth
the bottom boughs canopied out,
branches looping upward, forming
a cozy, sweet-smelling cave
we rented out rooms, not the tree
still, guests were often staying there
most of the staff didn’t know
of our guests beneath the tree
like tourists in our regular rooms
they spent their days not there;
it was merely a place to lay a head
to relax and stash their gear
unobtrusively using dead of night
to slip into the lobby restrooms
using freshly cleaned toilets to rinse
soap-dispenser-and-sink cleaned feet
foot care key, to surviving the street
from time to time my boss and I
encountered our off-the-books guests
greeting them as we would any others
with a nod, a greeting, a smile
a few times, my boss Dennis
would ask them to wait, asking
if they were hungry, then going
to the kitchen, returning with a
sandwich, or piece of chicken
Like most of our guests
they seldom stayed long,
but frequently returned;
loyalty, as they told us in training,
was highly valued, and must be
constantly earned
the proof of that I can confirm
because the guests who never paid us
were the finest that I served
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016