The Amethyst Hotel-poem by Becky Fawcett

Thank goodness it was only one night At the Amethyst Hotel, the salesman and his ‘wife’ She baulked at the musty, threadbare carpet That barely covered creaky floorboards, full of woodworm Tried to open sash windows, long since painted shut Hung her clothes inside a tatty pine wardrobe Whilst he closed the sun-bleached chintz curtains That were losing their hems and their pennies He sniffed the wood chip wall It looked like someone had thrown a cup of tea at it Or it could’ve be blood He flicked on a black, plastic kettle past its best Popped teabags into two chipped mugs That sat amongst out of date sachets and milk cartons They both dared now to recline On an aging, stained mattress, full of lumps She looked at the ceilings full of cracks Like veins pulsating Under years of painted wallpaper By the kettle’s boil he was done And tried in vain to turn on An analogue TV, chained to the wall Then next to it, he saw a painting A lonely castle, in darkness Save for one light at a thin, garret window. The salesman admired it, touched the canvas Whilst his ‘wife’ counted money on the toilet Lipstick smudged across her face Suddenly the light went out in the castle He turned the frame over, an inscription read ‘For whom the light switches’ He flipped it back and the light was on again He shouted the ‘wife’ over to see but she ignored him So he stomped into the bathroom And dragged her out by her hair The light was still on in the painting, but now His very own face had appeared,  His eyes staring out in fear,  From the thin, garret window. Poem by Becky Fawcett Drawing by Janne Karlsson