Oh unhappy water-heaters hissing and spitting in insolent contempt
hurling mineral-laden water toward some rusty shower head that is neither pressurized
nor removable
to fall upon the slouched shoulder of another man-child who was cracking into dawn like another beer
and all ping pong balls know their fate
I know their fate when I hear them skuttle across the floor through my ceiling like alcoholic cockroaches
and the stumbles of incoherent youth are fortified by whoops of ecstatic “Fuck yeahs!” when the plastic hits plastic and settles down into a comfortable, if static relationship momentarily
before being plucked gingerly out so as not to soak the fingers
the fingers that will stroke the girl on his team in the too-tight, too-short skirt and the long hair that reaches all the way down into her memories of not being asked out in high school
those fingers will grasp at, will claw toward
a singular event in an empty apartment that neither of them will actually remember
a mercy they will both be grateful for
and in the meantime,those fingers inch ever forward in search for something meaningful in the round curve of her ass
I hear the orgasmic
the awkward thrusts of headboard against wall, irrhythmic as a deformed heart
the murmured sighs and contentment of lovers too awkward
upstairs, the guys are either fucking or playing wii sports
their heavy thuds and inquiet groans suggest something primal, but they are so infrequent and irregular that I hope it isn’t sex for the sake of their relationship
a car door slams. other cars roar in the distance.
I live too close to the highway.
a door slams. all doorways here are unloved.
the manager with his slicked thin hair calls for a tow-truck, again
a baby cries, maybe.
who keeps a dog caged in a one-bedroom apartment?
