'Hotel Room, 12th Floor' - poem - Norman MacCaig
Hotel Room, 12th Floor
This morning I watched from here
a helicopter skirting like a damaged insect
the Empire State Building, that
jumbo sized dentist’s drill, and landing
5 on the roof of the Pan Am skyscraper.
But now midnight has come in
from foreign places. Its uncivilised darkness
is shot at by a million lit windows, all
ups and acrosses.
10 But midnight is not so easily defeated.
I lie in bed, between
a radio and a television set, and hear
the wildest of warwhoops continually ululating
through the glittering canyons and gulches –
15 police cars and ambulances racing
to the broken bones, the harsh screaming
from coldwater flats, the blood
glazed on sidewalks.
The frontier is never
20 somewhere else. And no stockades
can keep the midnight out.
Norman
MacCaig