Hotel room

Faint sound of bagpipes in the shower room:
a nice touch,
otherwise just what I might expect:
everything stripped down bare

Nothing to complain about:
clean, neat, white, neat, empty

Nothing left lying about:
no sign of life at all,
like a sterile cell from another dimension,
unfolded just for me:
a grand design

Outside, hollow night:
extras stroll stiffly in the street
to deceive me into thinking
this set is real

Sometimes they look up guiltily
but never stop

Like dancers down by the river
free before 10pm
they beckon to me without passion:
deep water lapping at
plain flood plain

The magician need not think he has me fooled:
all this catlike, cunning plumbing
will disappear tomorrow,
scurry back into some quantum state
paradoxically certain

Behind the curtain
he tries again:
the same old last-century trick

conjuring bagpipes
from thin, thin air