Champagne Again


What brings you
To the corridors of the past?
Was it something familiar?
Do you come here often?
I’ve been known to roam the halls
Looking for an ice machine
To fill my champagne bucket
I see a lot of wing-backed chairs
And glass ashtrays
Teak end tables and synthetic plants
I pass so many numbered doors
I hear the voices, moans, and laughter
Mingling in incoherent mutters
I think that I’ve forgotten
Which room was mine
And can’t help wondering
If I will ever taste
champagne again?

© Christopher Raine