The little hotel

A poem based on a line from Jenny Slate’s “Little Weirds”

“It’s hard to describe
how happy
the breakfast at the little hotel made me feel.”[1]

It’s easy, though, to remember the
hard-boiled eggs peeled
to perfection. I can still
describe the texture of my mimosa’s bubbles,
how fine the tablecloths were. You seemed
happy about your French toast garnished with
“the ripest peaches I’ve ever tasted” which is saying something because
breakfast isn’t something you mess around with.
At the end of the meal you wiped your mouth at
the corners and leaned to my ear: “This
little
hotel
made
me
feel.”

[1] Slate, Jenny. Little Weirds. Back Bay Books, 2020. p. 112.