God it must be boring

To work in a hotel,
Serving servings of
This and that all day long
And most of the night,  

Seeing everything everyone
Eats and excretes and uses
And abuses and all the little
Bits that end up in the bin,

Hearing all the same old
Complaints and compliments
Pasted to the same old breaches
And reaches of etiquette,  

Smelling the duty-free bargains
Fused with burnt navels
Every evening, smothered
In After-Sun, day in, day out.

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