Hotel

Mark Mahemoff

In the swish hotel lobby

flight attendants do a kind of happy dance.

Freshly showered and shaved,

they are ready for the airport bus.

Then it’s up, up and away:

Champagne, smoked salmon

and stroking for first class,

a smile and mixed nuts for economy.

Outside, life bats the double glazing

like a summer blowfly.

Near the gleaming brass revolving door

a man and his dog are camped.

There’s water in a stainless steel bowl,

a corrugated placard describing hard luck,

and an upturned hat with a smattering of coins.

Next to him a cleaner polishes his pane.