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,
Twitched,
Permanently,
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,
Shout.
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.

Wow!

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,
Crocodile.
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
Waltham,
That’s what the accent sounds like, as he handed over the sheer delight of 150 quid shag
Bag.

And that was the end of another night
In travelodge