in white sheets
plain and without imagination.
They give me
black-and-white
forgettable dreams.
I wake in a cold sweat
in an overheated room.
Instinctively,
I check my phone
to see the time.
It is 6:12 AM.
Already morning.
Surprising to me.
I add the numbers
six plus one plus two
and smile at nine.
The AC hums at 27,
another nine.
Always
I look for God’s signs
in numbers.
I move carefully
despite cramped calves
and a full bladder.
Sitting in the musty bathroom
I spray lavender mist
though I know
lemon freshens better.
Well-worn jeans
hang on a chair
that puts my bum to sleep.
Another reminder
laundry undone
sent to an overpriced service
that skimps on detergent.
My hand moves to the door
and then I remember
no Sunday paper will arrive.
I am in a hotel
that doesn’t feel like home.
Still, there is a bed
and so, a place to be.
And I realise
my problems are privilege
sweet enough
to lull me back
to sleep.
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