Paradise Hotel Poem by Gert Strydom

Thousands of people were dead,
fanatics had flown
jets into two towers,
crashed another
into the Pentagon military headquarters.

I watched the news on CNN, the BBC
and Sky News until my eyes were red,
could not sleep although tiredness
made me feel hazy,

I ordered strong hot coffee and a great meal,
took a shower and went out for fresh air,
came across a beautiful blonde in the elevator,
who gave me a business card
and smiled dazzling and showed
really great legs
while she went to the suite next door
and my hotel suite swallowed me,
I forgot to close the door
and so did my next-door neighbour.

I was at an expensive hotel, with deep carpets
but could hear her receiving hungry kisses
and ripping the clothes of the body
of the man next door
and moaning and screaming in pleasure

and the card said:
"If you want me to spread my legs,
give me a call"

and I closed the door
ordered a Johnny Walker whiskey on the rocks,
tried to find some decent music
on the television, but except the tragedy
everything was boring
and I felt numb, as if feeling too much pain
had turned my feelings off
and the flashing television screen
made me doze off.