There’s nothing here worth noticing.
The street recedes,
shops half-lit,
bus exhaust folding into dusk.
The hotel key slides in easily —
doors always open when there’s nothing inside.
The room waits, beige and serviceable,
its furniture performing function without interest.
The view:
a roof, another roof,
chimneys repeating themselves like apologies.
The hours thin out,
filled with the soft industry of passing time:
television screen, the air condition hums,
I sip on this beer
There is nowhere else to be done, now.
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