Foreign Static

by Andrew Taylor

 

Room 20 Hotel

Engerland, Amsterdam.

The double bed facing

the bathroom and the

TV perched above,

humming quietly

with foreign static.

 

The desk, behind

the headboard-

raised and the

view across the

street from the

alcove window.

 

A place to rest

our heads as we

get away from

it all for five days.

 

Leave Rick’s poems

on the desk

for when the need

arises. Put them

next to The Dead

Sea Poems.

 

            *

 

Help me find my

safe spot – the

cool bathroom

with equally

cool tiles – as

my heart beats

far too fast and

my mind

drifts from

East to West

 

Premonitions and

fright as the fear

grips my soul and

twists me through

180 degrees

 

‘Hush, it’s going

to be alright’

I don’t believe

her as the tears

roll down her

scared face

like blood

from a crown

of thorns

 

5mg of Valium

to calm the

racing heart

‘What about

the soul?’

I cry Try

and embrace

the comforts of

my madness

as I twitch

and shiver

on the cool

cotton sheets

 

her bedside lamp

casts a glow

around her head

like Gabriel’s halo

 

as I shuffle

towards the safe spot

she follows me in

as I splash cold

water onto a face

torn from reality

 

Do I really look

this bad? Will I

always be like

this? What does

she see in me?

Why is it that

it is her here?

 

I don’t follow the

path that leads

back to my parents

safe in their bed

not knowing of

the Hell I am in

 

it’s too dangerous

a place to go

 

‘Can I switch

the light off

now? I’ll switch

it on if you get

scared’

 

lying on my back

listening to the

splinters of rain

bouncing off car

roofs.

 

        ***

 

Breakfast and the

omelette and coffee

are hitting the spot.

 

Back in room 20I

ease back listening to

Kent‘s Isola and am

transported to a world

where I would visit again.

 ***

Andrew Taylor is co-editor and publisher of erbacce and erbacce-press (http://www.erbacce.com/), based in Liverpool, UK. www.myspace.com/andrewtaylorpoetry