RozGoddard.com

Poetry

How to Dismantle a Hotel Room

It will take two.
Conceal your pliers and wrench
check in as if you are lovers about to enjoy the city’s
waterfalls and churches.
In the room, stand for a moment
the air holds something of last night’s encounter
you can read it.
Get to work, peel the bed to its bony mattress
fold each sheet, dance toward each other until
the edges touch.
Take a last look at yourselves before unscrewing
the mirror, wrapping it in duvet.
The sideboards will be airy
they will feel like deckchairs you have
carried try not to dwell on the lack of love in them.
Take down the drapes, your optimism will
be restored, light will wash in like the sea.
Take tea, eat three Highland Shorties.
Discover a feather.
The framed print on the wall is all pastels
take it down allow it to come face to face
with the grey T.V.
Stack all things in an approximation of a square
pillows on top, the four neatest clouds you have ever seen.

Roz Goddard