It wasn't even cold

It wasn't even cold,

this water from the tap

in the Marriott. The heavy glass

felt alien in my hand.

I drank it down, quick.

A metallic tang,

like a penny left in your mouth

too long. A hint of something

chlorine, almost industrial.

It coated my tongue.

Not clean, not right.

Just flat. Like the light

from the window, yellowed,

a thin film on everything.

Not home. Never home.

Even my cells knew it,

rejected the mineral story

of this other, duller, stranger place.

A taste of being unmoored.