Classic Poem

I seem to spend half my life arriving at strange hotels—
And asking if I may go to bed immediately.
And would you mind filling my hot water bottle
Thank you that is delicious.
No, I shan't require anything more—
The strange door shuts upon the stranger
And then I slip down in the sheets
Waiting for the shadows to come out of the corners
And spin a slow, slow web
Over the ugliest wallpaper of all.