Class Act

here I stand
on the sixth floor
of a 120 dollar
a night
marriot
staring out
these tinted windows
high above
east lansing's cold weather
down on
the ground
people wait
in lines
in snow flakes
to get into bars
there is a strange smell
of bologna
& stale smoke
in this
no-smoking room
& only one
movie channel
we wrap a wet cloth
around the smoke alarm
mixing a drink
ice machines! my wet dream
i hawk a goober on the wall
as he tells me
i'm a real class act
there I stand, grinning, looking down,
snapping pictures with no flash
on my last night of freedom
with a view of the city that glows

This poem Copyright 2001 Nicholas Morgan.

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