contiguous

AlexHotel.jpg

From the mezzanine of
a James St. hotel in
Northbridge, I watch a father-
son team collect waste oil and
scrape fryers into stainless steel
bins, banging for sticky
residue, faces devoid of
expression, unresponsive to
passers by.
At night, from the rooftop
terrace, stars ornament our views
while cries like slow-to-boil
bubbles rise and
burst.
A full moon looks on with
chilling indifference.
 Night view
Inside we
close doubleglazed windows,
pull curtains on the neon display,
loll across the KingSize, and
listen as a
covers band walkthrough Bob Marley.
Applause smatters. Earplugs lend
sleep.
Still dark, I reach across to
discover your absence and go
searching corridors lined with
numbered doors, take Schindler’s lift
to the lobby, pry soft-
lit corners.
There you are,
composing on a cushioned
banquette.
Enter quietly
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