Hotel Insomnia

 I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.

Next door there was a piano.

A few evenings a month
a crippled old man came to play
"My Blue Heaven.
"

Mostly, though, it was quiet.

Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat
Catching his fly with a web
Of cigarette smoke and revery.

So dark,
I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.


At 5 A.
M.
 the sound of bare feet upstairs.

The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,
Whose storefront is on the corner,
Going to pee after a night of love.

Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.

So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.

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