A Future in Hospitality
Night audit does its thing and housekeeping
does its thing
and management doesn’t really do anything
but roll in the dough
making motorboat noises into enormous breasts
into the cleavage of kept women
with a barber for upstairs
and a barber for downstairs
and maids for the children
and expense accounts
for the rest,
and I could see that the gentlemen working the front desk
knew nothing of this,
that he was thick as a rock
paying religiously into a pension
he hoped would save him
like Christ,
and when I asked him where the steam room was
he said it was for guests only
and then he turned into a cactus
and his suit was porcupine prickly
and I left him there
in the sand,
in the rising work world quicksand
of little hope
which forced broken men
to smile
and greet things
they would much rather
kill.