It’s always hot in here
Even with the windows open
I can’t turn the heat off
The pipes bang and I can’t sleep
Not that they make much difference.
It was cooler in summer
You remember
When the mattress was on the floor and
You (probably) ate Twizzlers alone (probably not) in the living room
While I slept at home
Or more like
Experienced unconsciousness
Too tired to sleep
So much here you don’t know about.
I’ll tell you.
A cat meows at me every morning
Through the neighbor’s door.
They make breakfast every Sunday
I can smell it when I leave.
The streetlight
Across the way
Shines right in the bedroom window.
It’s kind of nice
On quiet nights
You can hear it buzz
softly
Over the ceiling fan when its on low.
The brick in the courtyard,
The one I told you I was worried about,
Hasn’t fallen but
They have replaced
(most of)
The light bulbs out there
Soon they’ll begin planting new flowers.
Probably.
Sometimes a squirrel
Sits in the dining room window,
The one the branches reach,
And watches me eat my cereal.
Remember how much trouble they gave me at my old place?
Throwing acorns at my screen door and
Running across the balcony at night.
It feels funny,
Not ha-ha,
To be so blatant
Like you’d read this anyway
Or that I’d really care
If anyone else figured out this poem
(more like a train of thought with line breaks)
Was to you.
So what if it is?
We used to talk all the time.
Now it’s just this.
Short Stories 