The Bosporus Star

TWO NEW YORK HOTELS
By Nathalia Blanca Perozo

A banker, a drunk, and a playwright
were my escorts for the night. The playwright
carried the most fame, and thus had our prime
ears tucked into his pocket. This warranted revenge,
I stuck a bone into his side.

In the kitchen an Englishman was cooking French.
Parmesan ice cream and scallions the size of coins
were served by waiters instructing us to love like our tails fly.
Uninspired, we finished our meals in eleven bites
and ordered cocktails named after motorbikes.

After the lights were dimmed, elderly
dames with orange hair headed towards the door,
our cue to pick up our sticks and head out.

The drunk and I became a pair and resurrected
Freddy Mercury at the Alex Hotel for the rest of the night.
Reluctant to trip into the sterility of luxury, he sank his bare ass
into the whitest part of the bed while we shared
a smoke and drank chilled Mimosas.