THE CACTUS TREE MOTEL
At the Cactus Tree Motel
With its cool marble mosaic floors
And ever opening and closing doors,
And voices echoing along the halls
And bouncing off the blue-tiled walls
And soaring up the galleries.
Above the prickly cactus courtyard
A velvet canopy is spread.
Now there’s only Jack Orion
Gleaming mutely overhead.
But down on earth the patron shuffles,
Wearily dragging his feet;
Lagging behind him, his over-weaning,
Obsessively cleaning wife,
Her cloth crown awry,
Wielding her restless ever-moving mop,
Fearing to stop even for a moment
(In case she has to think
Or pour herself an alcoholic drink.)
Inspired by our stay in a youth hostel on the Tunisian coast.posted by Rusty Gladdish
This poem was inspired by a trip to a Tunisian fishing village where we we stayed in a very basic but spotlessly clean hostel.