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Late Arrival

Poetry By: Chris Bradbury
Poetry



This is just about a guy who arrives late to book in at his hotel. He's tired, lonely, been travelling forever.


Submitted:Jun 4, 2013    Reads: 1    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


I booked in, smiled at the girl

Behind the counter,

Blue eyes and blonde,

Wrote my name among the thousand others

That had strayed this way,

Now gone.

I knew none of them,

Not by their scrawl or their home town

Or the 'helpful comments'

They had jotted down.

They passed through me as ghosts,

Unseen, accepted, one more

Shine upon the wooden stair

Worn thin by all those souls

That once trod heavy there.

Like a Bedouin tent on shifting, cooling sands,

The hotel split and groaned,

Gave way to each untethered step

As a lover does to those with whom she's slept,

All practiced grace and polished age,

Familiar with each passing phase,

Yet each move heard anew each time

To become a part of times entwined.

My thanks received as if gifted

On Christmas Eve,

Blonde hair, blue eyes gave me my key,

Offered me a drink, company,

Said in whispers how she would like to

Spend the night with me,

Or maybe just pointed the way and said,

'Goodnight. Sleep well. You call the desk

If you find the depth of loneliness

In which you travel

To be too much.

We'll send someone right up.'

I smiled, picked up my bags and took the stairs,

Forever marked as a man who once walked there.





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