Stainless Stains

I used to love the days before check out
I’d walk the room in search of lost and found
That was as good as any a game to play
The last small step that marked the end of stays.
Then goals and days were bright, life did abound
I still had time to go and check them out.


As time proceeds all rooms will look alike
Our needs the same regardless of the place
While time does change the number of the miles
Your legs and cards have traveled down the aisles.
You’ve held in yours the hands of time, your face
Knows that, your heart denies, your brain’s on strike.

Today – years passed – I felt like going out
I tried to move but, darn, this bed’s too tall
I felt like I would fall and stopped awhile.
A man came in. I thought, “who’s this fake smile?”
He went away, I thought “front desk I’ll call
This damn hotel will hear from me, watch out!

New rooms I’ll find in this drab town, I’m out!”
Stood up, sheer will did drag my feet ahead
No soaps, shampoos to take with me, how cheap!
The sound of running feet, I heard a beep
“Where are my clothes? I’ll go in jams instead.
If one just tries to stop me, I’ll smash one’s snout.”

The room was an incoherent mess, and the man was angry; he couldn’t pace around in fury, so he was torturing an expensive-looking ballpoint pen.
A thin, pale woman walked in and on something sticky - tried, failing, to conceal her disgust; she looked at the man, raised a landscaped eyebrow.
The man cursed concisely as if reading out of a book; handed her a metal clipboard, and the pen. She signed at the bottom, under what was more a scribble than his signature.
They both walked to the door. Blackish, icky stains followed the woman’s left foot, leaving a trail.
The man shouted to two men lazying outside, “Let’s get this over with. Check him out.”

Stainless Stains by Dario Beltrami is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at ubhaikuitous.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://ubhaikuitous.blogspot.com/.

Author's note
The intent while writing this was quite lofty, and I'm not sure how successful, to try and conjugate iambic pentameter (dear Bard, please do not take offense at my stunted attempt at that) and a sort of Carverian atmosphere.
Anyhow, I have broken the one rule scribblers should follow ("shut up and write!"), hope you don't mind, and look forward to any feedback you may have.