The Door

“Down the hall and on the left,”
the attendant says.
She hands the key to the room
hanging from the slot
marked as room one.

She helps you with your luggage,
none of which belonged to you
in the first place.
The silent elevator
brings you to the top floor.

She mentions
to have a nice stay
as she
behind closing elevator doors.

Walking down the hotel hall,
confusing carpet schemes
keep you moving,
but you refuse
to find the door on the left.

The other doors,
barricaded by loud noises,
scream their secrets.
The temptation to open them
all take its toll on you.

Rushing to each one to see
if the key fits.
It doesn’t.
Over and over again,
the key refuses to fit.

There are no turns
in the rotation.
There are no turns
in the hall.
Just the door on the left.

Lights flicker to fade
as more doors are passed.
Locks bolted in place
in front of
loud scenes.

The door on the left
is not locked.
In fact, it never was.
It has always been shut,
awaiting to be opened.

As approached,
it cracks open.
Awaiting to reveal
what is behind it,
lights burn out.


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