Business travels
The ice in my glass melts smoothly
Cube to cube they dance
As I swirl my drink slowly
The whiskey burns a slow path
My insides warming
My soul sings the blues
Conversations around me
Strangers living strangers’ lives
For a moment they belong to me
For an instant I am not lonely
Billie Holiday plays from a tape
I dream of dancing with my partner
The trumpets call to me
The piano plays my return
Note by sweet note
My room has pretensions of home
The bed sheets are crisp and cold
Generic paintings pretend warmth
A study of bland
Carpet patterns try to imitate good taste
A bouquet of ordinary
Imitation wood fools no one
Room service a temporary companion
Home awaits me with no expectations of tip
Home awaits me
I remember when I worked and had to travel, I also hated it. I now have close friends that are on the road almost every week and they are not always happy campers.
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