Small Hotel
Not `Guest'—
The Chinese, those corrected souls, all know
A guest is never billed, whereas the Essence of my aspect is, I pay—
But 'Occupier' : good words cost no more. 'The Occupier is hereby kindly warned, It is forbidden strictly by the Law' —In smudged ungainly letters on his door— 'Not to introduce into this room Prostitutes and gambling, and instruments of Opium smoking and spitting on the floor.'
'By Order,' all the lot, 'The Management.' The Chinese have immense respect for Order, They manage anything you name, except To keep their voices down. Outside my door The Management all night obeys the Law, Gambles and introduces prostitutes, And spits upon the floor and kicks around The instruments of opium smoking.
It is forbidden to the Occupier To sleep, or introduce into his room Dreams, or the instruments of restoration.
He finds he has his work cut strictly out To meet the mandates of the Law and Order.
Coffee, frying garlic and a sudden calm Imply the onset of a working day.
Kings and queens and jacks have all departed, Mosquitoes nurse their bloody hangovers.
So large a bill of fare; so small the bill! A yawning boy bears off my lightweight bag, Sins of omission make my heavier load. Insulting gringo. Cultural-imperialist. Maybe a liberal tip will mollify
The Law, the Order and the Management?— With what I leave behind on that hard bed: Years off my life, a century of rage
And envy.
D. 3. ENRIGHT
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