a la carte
She wears a bathrobe withThe name 'Hotel St Pierre'
In embroidered writing
Across the back
She flicks out her cigarette
In the ashtray 'St Moritz'
Her hair wrapped in
A fluffy white towel
Which she nicked from the 'Ritz'
And the mini bar is always filled
With miniatures and peanuts
Dry roasted
And when she travels,
She travels light
Returning with her,
Little souvenirs
Just memories of time spent
In other rooms, all en suite
A shoe shine, a trouser press
That pretty print of summer's rose
Bars of soap, a shower cap
That come in handy plastic packs
The table lamp
And bedside bible
She's never read
Alone in bed.
The crested dishes on her shelves
Of secret meals spent a la carte
'Do not disturb' hangs on her door
As unwanted bills float to the floor
She'll sit and smile
And plan a trip
So many treasures
To fill the gap.
Poetry by Elle
Read 497 times
Written on 2013-03-14 at 20:14
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Elle |
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