Layover

Making love in the sun, in the
morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than
our blood
making love while the boys sell
headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men – poor fools –
work.

That moment – to this…
may be years in the way they measure
but it’s only one sentence back
in my mind –
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up
and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.

I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up to the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.

– Charles Bukowski

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About handshedown

Keighley Perkins is a Cardiff-based poet whose influences include Anis Mojgani, Selima Hill and Richard Brautigan. Her work has previously been published in "Acumen", "Elbow Room", "Erbacce", "Fire", "Northwind" and "Obsessed with Pipework". She can also be found online on Twitter at @handshedown. View all posts by handshedown

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