In the final scene a man waits
in the reception area of a hotel,
a spectator in a moving montage
in a cosy juxtaposition of service and flow.
No one notices him and his watching:
the discreet frontage of the lifts
and their smoothly quiet ascents and descents
to reveal the occupants
stepping from their padded confines
some brisk, some dawdling, children
like shot from a cartridge, scattering
He is aware of this precisely.
The enquiry desk with its computer
which with infinite wisdom holds
countless details of how and where to sleep people.
To one side of the area a palm leafed restaurant,
lectern ready for ushering and pre - booking ease
as sliding doors let in the air and the spirits
of an external throng, senses the vacuum
withdrawal of funds that supports this other world.
Like cogs and springs in a clock measured yet random
the unseen toilers above maintaining rooms
unsure speakers of the language in their lonely pods of necessity.
Subterranean cars parked and cleaned, a brisk service
stories of discontent from unnoticed workers below.
In this position he is inviolable, needing nothing, wanting no one
and he continues watching from his leather tub chair typical of lounges.
A woman and pekinese in perfect rhythm
drawing no comment, as haughty as stars
on a swirl of carpet seque to a taxi rank.
as a new manager positions himself so as to be conspicuous
addressing a boy carrying luggage to the lifts,
turns on his heel and tugs at an errant sleeve.
Time is passing
the Earth and all it contains whispers
with a moment's unrecognition
as the man passes equally silently into oblivion
his eyes now closed and stopped of heart.