Carpeted floors, bright décour,
And frilly, flowered things.
Necklaces, champagne,
Black dresses and diamond rings.
Softly-lit sconces,
Artistic nuances,
And tables of zebra linen.
Attendants postulating like peacocks,
With upright spines and pressed coats.
The silver trays will soon be laden with food.
With names like “Crowne Plaza”
And “Victory Manor,”
One feels obliged to don a
Suit and tie, and speak like a Brit.

Oh, God, I fear there’s something here
That’s really quite amiss:
I spy a blemish in the
Grandeur of the place!
Upon the window of the skylight does squat
A festering spot of
Dirt
In a nook, a realm overlooked
By the cleaning crew.
As I peer around still more,
I find there’s shabbiness galore
Upon these windows.

Oh, remorse! But the grand, air-tight façade is punctured
Even after so much effort on the part of the management.
I left the hotel with the
Dirty windows
Plaguing my mind.