I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.
Next door there was a piano.
A few evenings a month
a crippled old man came to play
"My Blue Heaven."
Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat
Catching his fly with a web
Of cigarette smoke and revery.
I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.
At 5 A.M. the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,
Whose storefront is on the corner,
Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.
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Comments about this poem (Hotel Insomnia by Charles Simic )
- One Nation Under God, Katherine Nordhaus
- the weather knows where i'll someday put.., Mandolyn ...
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- If I am just a Character, Felicia Manning
- Only if..., Ntando.B Da poet
- Patience & Acceptance, Tom Zart
- I am a stream, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- THE WIDOW, john chizoba vincent
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