Seaside Hotel, Off Season

The street is a throwback to a less critical age Poor man's playground in the between wars thirties It is like setting foot on the set of a cowboy movie, Hotel billboards peel and sag in rows The hotel is wind and watertight, but ageing Rips in the paper run along the skirting The keys are dispensed by a clutch of gnarled fingers Like barnacles on a crab, her flashy jewels The jaded carpets, pressed into service by decades of trippers The treads ingrained with stains Lampshades, circa 1960, hold a suspicion of spiders The off white screens hang creased, in rucked suspension Stairs are steep and narrow, claustrophobic A single slice of turkey shivers on a plate Beside three ghostly potatoes Seaside hotels, off season Go off quicker than a three week old banana