My father would have liked this hotel
Its shabbiness and faded aspiration
Years ago, the last train left the station
But no-one has told the clientele
It speaks to the edge of town – their dress
The blaring television and pool
The day-glo flyers, the poker school
The bar-huggers, one step from loneliness
Like moths drawn to a guttering flame
Gwen Dickey, the voice of Rose Royce
And Bob Marley – their music of choice
It was the kind of place to which he came
The Parkas and Rasta hats here say
Not failure but a colourful entropy
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