A few of us shuffle listlessly

as we gaze at the tired hotel

The Aztec Hotel looks to have given up

(much like some of us)

as we make our way slowly through

its frayed and tattered doorway

The hazmat suits with their temperature

guns are efficient- but they don’t talk to us…not much

We’re used to being invisible anyway

with our chameleon skin on pavements and in store doorways

Until recently – when fear climbed on the back of rumour that we were ‘best friends’ with the virus

We cackled in anger when they cried, “Stay at home!“……. what home?

Now they want to keep us all together

in the bowels of a hotel that also wants to scream and tear its garments

We’re past social distancing

Hand washing is a fantasy

A shower? Like winning the lottery

But hey…. they’ve given us food

to assuage our hunger

and The Aztec Hotel for our bunker

What luxury

© Vivian Zems


For the Sunday Muse #108 and Poets and Storytellers