Paul Archer - photo Paul Archer - poet, translator



In his Single Room at the Hotel

After all the heated accusations
and the bitter recriminations,
he's silent now, exiled from
his own home to this hotel room.

No need to draw the curtains to
the metal blind segments the view
of grimey glass and blackened brick,
the necklace beads of traffic.

And all he sees is all he's lost,
thresholds he can no longer cross.
He turns away, brushes his teeth
angrily over the sink, his disbelief

hits him again as he sets
the wake-up alarm and gets
into bed, turns out the light, and lies
in the air-conditioned darkness...

Then his nerves begin their weaving
back and forth across his breathing.

© Paul Archer - All Rights Reserved