Plush piles of purple carpet stretch from wall to wall.
On electronic jungle gyms, movies or games install.
A telephone right near my arm awaits my every need.
Just down the stairs a cozy lounge will liquefy indeed.

A personal masseuse stands by to rub away my cares,
Or maybe I could exercise in private atmosphere-
Or soak inside a swirling sea of chlorine fumes and foam
Then drip back to this little room I've learned to call my home.

The concierge could call a cab to take me to a show,
And here's the book I bought today-but why I do not know.
So sit I in soothing scents and contemplate my plight:
The silent pandemonium that passes every night.

Donald E. Felch
November 2003

This constitutes my voluntary submission of "On the Road" to Poet's Corner.
Permission to publish is granted to Gary Hill under the terms published on the 
PC Website.  All rights reserved. Posted 17 Nov 03.

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