Friday Night At The Marders Hotel Poem by Gert Strydom

A man presses the bell
at the reception
of the Marders hotel,
and is waiting for service.

In the bar there's a ruckus
sounding like fighting,
curses streaming out
and a scream or two
sounding like pain.

Some girls and men play pool,
some sit at stools at the bar,
one or two plays darts
others sit at a table with cards

and the rest of the hotel is shoeless,
with silence walking the corridors,
here and there a couple
walks to a room
completely at their leisure
for an hour of intimate pleasure.