Hotel Dusseldorf

by M.P. Powers

I feel like some lowly strip mall
with all
the windows barred up and half the lights
burnt out.

I FEEL LIKE ALL THE SLOP STUCK TO ALL THE PLATES
IN EVERY
FUCKING
CHOKE-AND-PUKE IN DEUTSCHLAND.

I feel normal
because
today is my last day
here, and tomorrow? My life will begin
to end
again. Or fail to begin again.

My fault, I know...

But either way
I wait,
listening to the beautiful German chambermaids
padding
down the hallway.

Dreaming of the one that knocked on my door
earlier
with the long amazonian
legs
and short powderblue
skirt.

She gave me soap & towels
and smiled at me
suggestively (I thought)
and that was enough...

I open a little bottle of Jagermeister.

I hate Jager
but seeing it downstairs in the hotel vending machine
proclaiming
itself
in all its coughsyrupy
glory

I couldn't resist.
Especially after weinerschnitzel and four large steins
of the local
lager
courtesy of my soon-to-be defunct
VISA.

I take a sip.

Rip open the curtain...

There's a factory out there.
Smokestacks.
A highway.
Trees.
The sky is completely overcast.

Uhhg.

Feels like I'm in
Jersey.