I like bland and bright LA lowrises, old hotels
With their cascading futurism and the kind
Of emptiness of canvas you just can’t get with
An arctic cabin, the struggle for air and fire
No I like the wavey white walls and glass
The palms in the court, the once pristine laze
Setting a backdrop for sweaty romances
You can do so much with an unassuming setting
Heat turned up by way of numbing
Everything in the sun is like a dream
And it blinds you so good the pools of light
Thru trees and the press on your skin a slow
Sexual exhaustion perhaps in one of the bedrooms
Above the ground floor see neighbours stagger
Deck chairs and mint juleps, deck chairs
And whisky under the tongue, deck chairs
You phone room service to demand more
Ice and turn over in your bedsheets with handfuls
The sun on the white walls and thru the glass
There’s green outside even with the palm trees
Your sheets smell musky your pants on the floor
Staring at the doorway and slowly opening and
Closing your mouth and breathing through your nose
You are in the bland day twilight the opposite of dusk
Painful desert are those sandals on the floor
From the beach the night sand small glass what
Room service yeah yeah opening the door
Grabbing the bottle from the tray and on the balcony
The Johnsons downstairs are arguing again
But this is all in passing because you
Perhaps someone you met last night is staying
The man who came from the sea stinking of salt
You let your fingers drift over his leg hairs
He looked at you or was it an accidental brush sorry
And over there she is, glancing at you from
The bar, the car, some farish distance and then
You feel lips on your lips and your friend here
She is kissing you and you forget and remember
And pushing your tongue out awkwardly
She rests her hot forehead on yours as you
Rest your hot hand on your forehead raise
The whisky glass to your lips and look out
And even the Johnsons can’t break the spell
I – you never believed you would get here
The luxury of a cheap hotel in summer with
Room service easy quarts of scotch nickel
Beer in the bar romance oozing from every
Orifice not that there are many of those in
The clean hotel walls you finger the bottleneck
And look at the sheen on your finger and lick
Your finger and feel your gums pink and
Irrepressible you fill your glass again taking it
Out onto the court into the heat you sort of
Shuffle around seeing who’s awake among
The dead bleaching in the day occasionally
Spasming with dreams of nights past
You sniff and sip your drink as the room service
Whirls through in inexplicable blue trousers
And this bell boy cap like a crown you imagine
Him years later in trackies and a wifebeater still
Wearing the battered and greying cap-crown
They’ll ask him what it says and he’ll drink some
Of his beer turn up the TV and fart loudly
You fart quietly as you leave the sun and the bar
Room looks so dark even with the windows
And the french doors open and the bright blue walls
The water lines off the fish tank dancing it feels
Like a little breeze has tickled your face but still
You’re cooking like a cake and sidle up to the
Bartender flipping cocktail parts and the sound
Of pouring you edge onto a chrome barstool and put
Your glass down and in the mirror this bartender is so
Hey so what can I get you a pornstar martini and you
Look at your whisky and you finish it and say yeah
The bartender has a red waistcoat and it’s offputting
Hey so didn’t I see you at the beach the other night
What yeah I think you’re the writer right no I
Yeah I remember everyone kept saying you were
Pretending to be one of your characters the one with
No that’s not me you must be thinking of someone else
Oh well maybe the bartender flourishes with a bit of
Something and the drink comes down with a clink
Glass on glass you sip it and look at discarded
Passion fruit husks until the next drink is whisky