LIVING AT THE ASTORIA
Tucked behind a slip road
fringed by chestnut trees
Middlesex nights were spent
on a bridge over a Burmese river,
in a shower with Janet Leigh
at western saloons
through double doors at the Astoria.
Restaurant above where my auntie worked
back in the day,
forthcoming film clips in frames
tempted us boys to flaunt the censors' warnings
U A or X and even H.
Now Mrs Baxter sits in a carpeted lounge
takes tea in a semi swoon from a black lady
drops the spoon
where Norman Bates upon the screen
delivered his blows as mother.
The receptionist sees on her screen
that several residents are called Gloria
not realizing the apt coincidence
of living at the Astoria.