The bag I’m In

I  enter my  hotel room.

I see  my name on the television,

A warm welcome greeting.

I  turn it off.  My suitcase

next to the made bed,

my face a black mirror.

Downstairs in the neutral bar

nobody  is waiting for me.

And I’m waiting for nobody.

Then, into the night, across the street

which is measureless.  

Nowhere a head that nods,

everybody withering

or drinking.

I  return to my hotel room, now without

the warm welcome greeting.