Inside Hotel 22 Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

If numbers could rhyme,
So would the two I know
For one that parks white is 22
And the one that parks blue is 522
Now it is time to go to San Jose
She comes in with her load
Sits in the handicapper section
Her cans are all over in bags.
Get these out the driver yells.

He comes in with his head covered
Is it dirt or other unmentioned things
The driver brings his head to his nose
Smells him and tells him to get out
And calls the police.

He plays music from his cellphone
This one is merry for sure
He looks back and yells.
Not in here sir this noise.

This theater in the bus
Of a drunk that holds us up
He does not want to get off
He stands at the door forever.

I move up to show my rage
I cannot stand here forever
The homeless look at me.
And see I am new here
For this is how it goes
Inside Hotel 22.

This hotel is mobile and long
The poor get in with all belongings
That fit into a suitcase or two
Add two big black garbage bags
A woman and a man in their dirty jeans
Who pay a dollar for they cannot afford
After arguing with the driver
Is a Palo Alto experience to remember.

The big train starts early around six
The homeless pick up their wares
Hotel 22 has come in white and black
To start the endless journey for the day.

San Jose is the name of a saint
Palo Alto is the name of a tree
Between his holiness and her royal green leaves
We are on a swing from one stop to the other
In our merry go round of the poor.

Last stop the driver announces,
After Page Mill only four,
The sleeping commuter should have counted,
But he is snoring head bent down.
The driver should last stop again,
The sleeping poor with their bags,
Get off and line the transit area,
And make beds for the night has come.

Someone brings food and throws it
In the cemented islands at the transit area
You think of the pigeons that will come,
Someone picks it up before they sleep
In the open that is their home.

The call of nature comes
Someone relieves themselves in the silence
The commuters had better be wary
For they will step on a mess
From the left overs of this event.

A millionaire is among them
She worked and earned a lot
Lives and mingles without shame
Why not it is Palo Alto
Where the middle class struggles
To do even the minimal.

Where people sleep in cars
Where legs swell like bloody poles
That must stand up and work
As if everything is right
To get a paycheck from the master
Whose company brings in billions.

And still in goes Hotels 22
Clean spotless and a giant
Only people with destinations
Dare go in here where people do not joke,
But say it like it is,
And live it like it is
And walk it like it is,
And sleeps it like it is.