Hotel Despair Poem by Robin Bennett

I always knew how quickly-
depression moves in
My bed and a dark room,
leave me totally disheveled.
Thank God for the bliss
of darkness.

I'd cry whenever I'd dropp my hat-
the one that hid my rattled
looking hair.
My depression seemed to
be big business for
shopping channels.
Still have that obnoxious
Joan Rivers enamel
bumblebee broach.
I never had the
energy to
return it
to fashion hell.

It was high time
I checked myself
into Hotel Despair.
Some short woman
missing her front tooth
and wearing gloves,
rifled through my
belongings. Mental
illness profiling? Standard
procedure, she lisped.
She really tore into me when
she got to my train case of
cosmetics and flat iron.
"What kinda fashion show,
you think you're at lady"
she so bluntly stated.

Seems the routine is
to shuffle around and mutter
comedy bits in various
stages of undress.
Can't you just give me
the good meds so I feel better?
Then me and my one woman
"fashion show" will be out
of your hairnet for good!