A Chicano Checks into His Hotel Room

by Gustavo Barahona-López

He sits fixated on an overly thick lampshade. Hand-stitched ambient light.

Even his daydreams here are expensive. Wings shine from a disproportionate chandelier.

The opulence casually bruises him. He gets up to check into his room.

The manager sets down keys on the counter, already looking past him to the next customer.

“Thank you!” he replies in a high-pitched voice coupled with a practiced, extra smile.

Then comes the shiver. Patrons and patrons and looks. “Why?” the silence seems to ask.

He swipes the cardkey, a blind click welcomes him. He finds the same blackout curtains, the same flat screen,

but also the same bed with the goose down pillows, with the 1,200 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

He sets down his duffel bag, removes his clothes along with the residue of carbon dioxide and noxious eyes.

He lays on the right-hand edge of the king-sized bed, like when he shared a twin-sized bed with his brother.

He sleeps deeply, reveling at the thought that this space was not made for him.

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Gustavo Barahona-López is a poet and educator from Richmond, California. In his writing, Barahona-López draws from his experience growing as the son of Mexican immigrants. His micro-chapbook Where Will the Children Play? is part of the Ghost City Press 2020 Summer Series. A VONA alum, Barahona-López’s work can be found or is forthcoming in Iron Horse Literary Review, Puerto del Sol, The Acentos Review, Apogee Journal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, among other publications.