Hotel In Bangkok

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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.

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I am glad.

I imagine them declaring war on
the

interior.

Imposing their own
dictator.

Holding elections whilst
welcoming in

corporations from the
homeland.

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Prisoners of war are
taken

As the lift stops and
starts.

And room numbers are

Tortured out of
smiling

chambermaids.

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Our own lift rattles
upwards

To our room

Where the bed waits

With the covers turned
down.

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And outside Bangkok
swelters.

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