I love the sad little tray

That sits on the desk of every hotel room,

Splashed with weak tea, not wiped away,

Piled with sugars and sachets

Of tea and coffee and crappy UHT.

You’ll need at least six of those thimbles of milk

But you’ll make do with one for tonight,

Saving the other for the 6am call.

And the white plastic kettle

Will take half an hour to boil,

Leaving flecks of hard water

Floating on the surface of coffee so weak

I’ll easily be asleep in an hour or two.

Because the hotel room coffee tray

Is a sad little place, but one that is needed

When I check in, depleted.