Booking a room down the road
at the Hotel Charsfield
for our last two nights in this town feels
odd - note their brochure:
‘As unique as the guests who stay here’!
Misreading this a moment as ‘antique'
I tried it on the receptionist -
she smirked as if used to the joke.
The Charsfield’s in walking distance
from our flat. We’re packing up
so a tenant can move in. Ourselves,
we’re off with just our bags, overseas.
Our kitchen ‘whitegoods’ stay - nowt else.
What won’t go in our bags goes
in a van to storage. Goodbye again
my books, papers, notebooks, folders.
In two years max., Max will meet up
again with his written self - unless
that second self, his laptop
travels safely with him.
So the Charsfield is where we’ll
flop exhausted before quitting town.
Overseas! Overseasia! -
drawing breath in Aotearoa
where I first drew breath.
On then to America’s
far North-West, all for the sake
of my earnest wife
who fancies again the student life.
[Max in Melbourne, soon for Seattle]
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