hotel love

Hotel love
I arrived at the uploaded village in the north, which had once been
a working hamlet, until famous people bought property there.
More people followed, as did estate agents the parish became
an in-place with posh cafes and restaurants with French names
where the original inhabitants could not afford to live in what was
left was a postcard idyll and a fake Tudor.
As I was booking in when my ex-girlfriend burst in full of eager talk
she was going to a restaurant where a well know singer would
appear and do as singers do sing.
In the right light and clever make-up, she looked about 37
it happened; I knew she was 54 but was not going to tell.
A young man she called darling carried her leather suitcase.
I was here to visit my daughter, her two noisy children and
her husband, who spoke of investment and paying taxes.
I ate wiener schnitzel, drank a bottle of wine, and served
by a woman dressed in a sexed-up folkloric costume
went to bed; my ex-girlfriend had a room next to mine
 made a clamour when she arrived with her young man,
but after a while, things simmered down.
In the morning, when she came down for breakfast, she
as alone, not for her to let a lover see her in the morn
I called her name and asked her to sit with me and drank
coffee, her hands trembled, needed a drink but
I got her to eat a croissant.
Up in my room, drink in hands, she had a moment
of clarity, my life is a mess, she said it is your fault
for getting old and bald; slept in my bed for hours
getting up, going to her room to put on her young face.
I didn’t get to see my daughter and her children
had to drive my exes home before she got into
more trouble.