Hotel In Bangkok
The drunk Americans from the
bar
Stand with us at the bank of
lifts.
"We'll take the empty
one,"
One says, as doors swish
open.
I am glad.
I imagine them declaring war on
the
interior.
Imposing their own
dictator.
Holding elections whilst
welcoming in
corporations from the
homeland.
Prisoners of war are
taken
As the lift stops and
starts.
And room numbers are
Tortured out of
smiling
chambermaids.
Our own lift rattles
upwards
To our room
Where the bed waits
With the covers turned
down.
And outside Bangkok
swelters.
