Hotel Lullaby Poem by Dermot McGarthy

A lost and restless heart newly born,
Beating in the bare morning air.
The sole activity of this deserted body.
Emptied of all its human cache,
Long and lite, cobra-like,
Stretched out upon a flat scaly belly.
Entangled in crumpled sheets, brightly
colored eiderdown
Still warm with lovers' scent.
The tingling fragrance besmirched by one
solitary teardrop,
Falling slowly upon the satin stage.
A mind like an Olympic sprinter racing in
rapid tempo.
Striding desperately towards the finish
line, still out of sight.
His stomach flutters to a seagull's squawk,
Summoning early morning brethren
outside a bay window.
Waves lash against the rock, meters below,
Roaring back their approval.
As if all nature was part, of the same
wonderful orchestra,
The same sinister conspiracy.
Entombed in this barren interlude,
He wished he were a seagull.
But he could not be part of that creation,
For seagulls were never alone.