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Hotel Insomnia

 I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.
Next door there was a piano.
A few evenings a month a crippled old man came to play "My Blue Heaven.
" Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat Catching his fly with a web Of cigarette smoke and revery.
So dark, I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.
At 5 A.
M.
the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller, Whose storefront is on the corner, Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought For a moment, I was sobbing myself.

by Charles Simic
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