Cheryl Hoffman | + Follow Poet |
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My Steamy Dream

As I walked holding my overnight bag,
towards the steam locomotive,
the air in the hot night so sultry and steamy,
my clothes clung to me as I boarded,
the train steward showed me
to my cabin which had a small fridge,
which held microwaveable foods
and in a corner some popcorn as well,
heating up some dinner,
and sitting down in my cabin,
I ate the dinner while it was steaming hot,
and not having had any breakfast or lunch
my appetite was ravenous,
for dessert popped some popcorn,
which was hot and steamy as well,
the air smelling like a movie theatre,
from the Orville Reddenbacher smell,
then looking at tomorrows clothes,
all mangled and wrinkled,
took out my trusty steam iron,
and ironed out all the crinkles, 
then I decided to take a warm shower,
feeling tired and crusty,
the shower stall looking so inviting,
till I looked at the nozzle,
standing there in my robe,
trying to get the nozzle to work,
was like trying to open a stubborn bottle,
trying to squeeze out a cork,
turning the nozzle to the right
and finally to the left,
no water was coming out of the spout,
which left me feeling upset,
one thing I did begin to notice
was the steam coming out from my ears,
when finally the water started to sprinkle,
washing with my irish spring away all my cares,
and finally stepping out of the stall,
I felt like a clean steamed fresh woman,
then I thought I heard Barry White singing
in his low sexy voice
a rendition of "I'm a Little Teapot,"
meanwhile someone had left me a message
on the steamed up mirror,
which said,
"Your soon to have a visitor!"
when there was a knock at my cabin door,
opened it up and a man stood
there wearing a Stanley Steamer uniform,
and for some reason I couldn't make out his face,
the atmosphere becoming more steamy and foggy,
he said he came calling to steam clean my cabin rug
as I stared at his face groggily,
and the more I stood and stared his
face became more and more familiar,
having a long pale face which looked
like there was nobody home,
he started scratching his head as if
it would help his thoughts more readily come,
and then it dawned on me where
I had seen his face before,
in the old black and white movies
that were directed by Hal Roach,
that's is when I awoke with a start,
and got some bread out for some toast,
and thought how funny it was as
I poured my tea into my cup,
of all the men in the world,
why is it that Stan Laurel 
had to show up?

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