Bob Orr

Just home from work
in a rich hotel
where the windows don’t open
she takes off her clothes
she leaves them where
they fall. The day is over

& over & over & over
it explodes gently open.

Outside
the harbour
gleams. Foams like a
dream of apples. Like the windows

of a drowned hotel.

© Bob Orr

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Last updated 11 May 2001