The Fourth Floor of Nowhere
“Dead folks can't hurt you none. It's the ones that are alive,
you have to watch out for.” Grace Metalious, Peyton Place
THE FOURTH FLOOR OF NOWHERE
The back room on the 4th floor of nowhere,
nowhere but our love, hidden from the lips
of those hustlers and backbiting peasants.
Spring to Winter, we’d get our kicks and kips.
We’d stash water bottles, cash and her
stare, where no one would bother to look.
Her blackmail ended our tryst and her life.
We played her game but not by her book.
We knew one day they’d go room to room,
key in hand, a skeleton to find, no remorse.
We’d have goosebumps near each other
but be careful to keep our eyes off course.
Forever is a long time of regret and forget.
A tongue that dared to cross our path, so
unimportant, forgotten, a regrettable life.
A backroom hush but a ghostly shadow.
We don’t dare recollect our lust of youth.
The handholding, the kiss, rose petals in bed.
We are unhappily married to our secrets.
Life in Peyton Place is to keep promises dead.
9/8/2020
Craig Cornish’s The Fourth Floor of Nowhere Poetry Contest
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