This anonymous space,
Cut from corridor corners,
Borrowed by the night,
Sterilised each day,
Locked safe behind a
Wooden slab door,
In which details of living
Are neatly priced,
Where refreshment is
Carefully refrigerated,
And cleanliness comes in
Small bottles and piles
Of folded, pressed towels,
Is merely a beige cell
Interloping as sanctuary,
Hung with lovers' secrets
And kaleidoscopic prints,
A forced smile and a bill
Just a phone call away,
The only defence against
The world a slip of card:
"Do not disturb".
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
