DEN ATELIER LUXEMBOURG:

The shock of an ‘almost’ breakfast at the hotel hits me hard.
Egg-mess so yellow you need sunglasses to eat it, suck it
through a straw, squinty little sausage things, crisped &
flattened potato things, baked beans with carrot slices,
over sugared fruit juices, tiny boxes of processed cereals,
soya milk the colour of puss, warm water loose tea in squat,
stained, chip-spouted pots, a room haunted by the ghosts of
sheepish breakfast staff avoiding eye contact with baffled
guests.
I shake & vibrate back to the room, load up on hot tea & laughs
with the next smiling face that shuffles up the corridor, pack
my bags, slip out onto the street, relax into the first caress
of sunlight heat.

(K)