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Another Night in A Travel Lodge

Travel lodge

All rooms are the same.
All bottles of shampoo,
claim a full body wash.
All the mini bars ever contain,
is lame orange squash.

He want's room service.
a demented Laura Ashley to turn up.
Dressed as a dominatrix.
Not a knitting needle lady,
trying to affix floral patterns,
to blackout curtain, sound proof kits.
Cuz he’s
too close to the motorway.

Yes the motorway roars outside.
The Phermaldahide coats,
the bread on the bacon sub blt and-which.
the do not disturb sign,
is affixed,
To a knob outside.

The business man lets no one in, except dollar bill.
He’s a lovely man.
And the sleeping pill,
That he has to swallow,
Is bitter.
For he must wallow in his own.
Made his own, must lie.
For the travel lodge has a breeze block bed.
A piece of marine plywood,
And minus 5 tog threads.
The lightest quilt in the world
The most sterile room in the world.
The awful green colour,
The purple clashes, as though the paint tub was hurled
By a blind Jackson pollock.
The piped tv channel boring information hurtles out
The corridor bangs doors,
next doors newly shotgun weds,
Do it on all fours,
And turn him on.
He applauses
For superior sex sounds are horses for courses in here
Their new born conceived,
In a merry go round of AMEX,
And diners cards.

Downstairs, where they check out
Business men and retard shards of success,
They never quite passed the test of middle management
So now address more menial chores
In travel lodge cement their future
Wow he’s got brown corduroy cords
He’s got a cash account,
Cured in Lourdes.
Wow he’s got money lent to him,
On his mini bar.


He can see as far as his Parker pen
Wow! his client signs the form in the Travelodge conference room and then,
He cues up another one.
He dials in a pizza bun.
He orders porn for everyone.
Every channel.
He washes with the travelodge flannel.
The postage stamp and the bath enamel,
Is made of plastic.
He has Y fronts, bought by elastic
Spouse, who drastically dresses him down.
Helps prevent the inevitable frown,
Town mouse,
That descends upon when he plays around-
In the travelodge.

The podgy, podge, pot belly of hoo ray Henry steak houses.
Of looking down waitress blouses.
Of 3 pints of lager lime nipple arouses,
Cocktail desire, so he orders one.
The spare tyre spilling beans over belly belt,
And Mickey mouse bathroom tiles for Christmas ties,
And wifey lies.
He never ordered a real room service.
That Laura Ashley dominatrix call finally emerges,
In the shape of single mother Sharon.
And her entourage in the back,
Of a clapped out Carlton.
Parked on a Parker knoll car park.
And Caroline, her minder, is from
That’s what the accent sounds like, as he handed over the sheer delight of 150 quid shag

And that was the end of another night
In travelodge

◄ Poetic Glycerin Suppositorie

the farmer and the carrion bird ►


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Tue 21st Dec 2010 05:05

Wow... I've never been, but I feel like I've just experienced it!

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Jeff Dawson

Thu 5th Feb 2009 21:30

Great mate, do you think they will use it to advertise? HA! Cheers JEFFARAMA!

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clarissa mckone

Fri 2nd Jan 2009 03:16

I enjoyed this poem. I have to say my olnly time ever in a Travel Lodge, was as a child,over here you can count on them being clean and affordable. I can remember staying in them as they had a bear for their mascot. Other then that hotel a Best Western was considered good at the time and a step up. When the whole family would hop in the family van for a summer trip, it was those hotels we stayed in. I hope not all wives lie.If they do, I wonder why they feel they cant trust, who they are with?Whats a shag bag? I understand shag, but not the bag part. Why cant people just love eachother and be faithful?Im having heart troubles tonight. I have to go lay down xx

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Andy N

Thu 1st Jan 2009 16:01

I like this, Pete - the mp3 on it is a good idea also! Oddly enough I have never stopped at a travel lodge - not sure if I ever will after this! Good poem thou!

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