Tuesday, April 12, 2011

poem of the day 04.12.11


the upstairs neighbor
interrupts our fucking

bouncing the springs on her bed
then pounding across
her floor/our ceiling
like a pampered little hussy

we wait her out until
her feet pound back across the room
and the bedsprings bounce again
a little louder than they had before

all i can think
before we go at it again

is poor little rich girl
who wakes up after noon each day
and gets to spend her saturdays in bed
doing nothing but her nails

i’ve heard you and your boyfriend
fucking in the morning, too

i’ve heard those pathetically tired squeaks
of the bedsprings bouncing

going steady for a moment or so
then stopping abruptly

before your muted voices
make tedious conversation
and the television set comes on
to his favorite sports channel

throw down a carpet or two
you jealous bitch

if the sound bothers you so much

because today is my birthday
and the wife and i got nothing
but time on our hands.

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