Diffused
The diffused laugher and
tones fluctuating in pitch from high to
low
some friday nights I wonder
which
walls the voices filter through
number 6? number 8?
Does the cranky older asian lady, sometimes
show herself in a different light?
The pensive, jittery guy who works the
night shift at the local casino?
Who always returns the most hesitant smile.
He found my keys in the parking lot one night,
slipped into my place, left them on the counter with a note.
How vulnerable I should have felt, as I slept.
He knew just where I always left them.
Tonight I spoke
my mother fading into sleep.
The hockey game with Noah was good,
she had told me.
Then there was that moment
when I realize I've talked well beyond the
reception of my listener.
I called her back.
The phone rang busy.
Crying comes easy with a fever of
One hundred and three.
some friday nights I wonder
which walls the shrill gaiety filters through
Are they the same that invite me to
the hacking death-like coughs of that cranky
older asian lady? sometimes does she suspend
writing her formal letters to our landlord about my
balcony use--
have a cold beer and play scrabble with her co-workers.
Or on those friday nights does Sam seek relief from his mid-
night shift at the local casino?
He found my keys in the parking lot early in the winter,
must have been about three or four--
slipped into my place, left them on the counter with a note.
Frozen to the steps, he said.
How vulnerable I should have felt, as I slept.
He knew just where I always left them.
Trying to thank him with a smile is like
lifting a back hand to a once abused mastiff.
but he always glances past my right shoulder, wishing
me a good afternoon and helps
sometimes when I struggle
with the groceries.
tones fluctuating in pitch from high to
low
some friday nights I wonder
which
walls the voices filter through
number 6? number 8?
Does the cranky older asian lady, sometimes
show herself in a different light?
The pensive, jittery guy who works the
night shift at the local casino?
Who always returns the most hesitant smile.
He found my keys in the parking lot one night,
slipped into my place, left them on the counter with a note.
How vulnerable I should have felt, as I slept.
He knew just where I always left them.
Tonight I spoke
my mother fading into sleep.
The hockey game with Noah was good,
she had told me.
Then there was that moment
when I realize I've talked well beyond the
reception of my listener.
I called her back.
The phone rang busy.
Crying comes easy with a fever of
One hundred and three.
some friday nights I wonder
which walls the shrill gaiety filters through
Are they the same that invite me to
the hacking death-like coughs of that cranky
older asian lady? sometimes does she suspend
writing her formal letters to our landlord about my
balcony use--
have a cold beer and play scrabble with her co-workers.
Or on those friday nights does Sam seek relief from his mid-
night shift at the local casino?
He found my keys in the parking lot early in the winter,
must have been about three or four--
slipped into my place, left them on the counter with a note.
Frozen to the steps, he said.
How vulnerable I should have felt, as I slept.
He knew just where I always left them.
Trying to thank him with a smile is like
lifting a back hand to a once abused mastiff.
but he always glances past my right shoulder, wishing
me a good afternoon and helps
sometimes when I struggle
with the groceries.