Hotel Room

June 2007

Too small for this, the wide bed, expanding
in the foreign darkness. And who knows
if it is softer or colder, or if someone
has slipped under the covers unnoticed.
Here, this is a life of lesses and mores,
plastic coffee cups with paper sugar packets
and little bottles of soap. The bedcovers
are changed in the half-an-hour between
breakfast and return. And the patterns
on the blankets drift and flourish,
and sleepers are swallowed inside. Passively
fading in like crappy coffee and terry towels,
white walls and the temporary thoughts
that comfort and enchant before slumber,
or the fleeting dreams of heavy sleep
before waking once more too small.

Reviews

[Butch Decatoria]

Wow, I actually felt that room--been there, done it, know what that uncertain, and doubtful time feels like. The way you flippantly discribe things, an empty type of discription, but poetic in its sarcasm and almost disgustedly or rather unfeeling... great piece. Thanks for sharing, just got back to reviewing work, and yours has grab my attention. more reading of your work to come.

~~Pfluffer (Butch D.)

[Sorry Infamous]

Interesting poem about a place often frequented by many souls. You poem shows that hotels are lonely filthy things when you really stop and think about it.

[Jibey]

Just came across this somehow... and thought I should tell you I enjoyed the gentle but poignant wit and wistful feel of this charming write.