day SEVEN HUNDRED and FIVE

the music box

there is a music box

that plays in the foyer of my building

fat, jolly santa at a piano

pounding the yuletide favorites

the superintendent and his wife

put it out there every year

when they decorate

and every year they let their monster child

scooter up and down the hallway

and past my apartment door

as they sing carols and put up decorations

then they go back into their apartment

far away from the santa music box

where they don’t have to hear

tiny christmas songs pouring into their home

all evening and into night like i have to

every year the super has christmas up without fail

yet my water-logged roof continues to crumble into dust

and the cockroaches here

are turning into an army

i try to be a good neighbor about the music box

for the old bats who sit in the foyer

talking about their pasts

for the young professionals coming home from work

playing on their phones

as they collect their amazon packages

but after a few drinks i go into the hallway

and shut the music off

there is only so much christmas a man can take

and they play the music at work

and in the liquor store anyway

this battle usually goes on for about a week

the super and his wife turn on the music box

and stand guard over it

as their child screams and howls and scoots

and then later i stumble out and shut it off

after they’ve gone

eventually someone gives up until the new year

i’ve thought about sending a message

smashing the santa music box

and leaving it in pieces outside the super’s door

finishing this little war

once and for all

but i have a reputation here of being drunk and unkind

and someone in the building

is selling heroin to high school kids

and they have cameras up all over the place here now

so it’s jingle bells, jingle bells for me

off and on until armageddon or january comes

and the super takes christmas back down

until the next time

with his brat kids scootering up and down the hallway

as the music box plays its last carol

and i sit in my apartment

watching yellow pieces of my ceiling

fall onto the dusty wooden floor.

--John Grochalski