Friday, March 16, 2012

I is for Insomniac

"Song of the Insomniac"

Slap, slap, slap
The only sound I hear
When I’m out at three A.M.
And no one else is near.

A car alarm goes off
But no one stops its tweet
Chirp Beep Honk
When I’m running down the street.


Sleep would be much better
How I wish I could.
Problem is the guy upstairs
Who thinks this is the hood.

Abandoned cars out back
He makes my life a hell
TV’s either on
Or I hear his girlfriend yell.


She clomps around in heels
No matter what the hour
They even scream and yell
When they’re standing in the shower.

My landlord doesn’t care
No word has she said.
Which is why I’m out here running
When I should be home in bed.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

H is for House

            When I met Ex, I owned a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood in a nice little suburb. We decided – okay, so Ex decided and I blissfully and blindly agreed – to keep Ex’s house and sell mine. My house sold right around our wedding date, so the timing could not have worked out better.

            Ex never called his house “our” house. It was always just his. Even to me, it was his house. We used the furniture I already owned, but I considered it “our” couch and “our” dining room table, not just mine. “Our” furniture in “his” house.

            That first summer, I spent days digging up the dead weeds and planting grass. I put Band-aids on my blisters and watered the lawn until it was a lush, green carpet. As we were pulling into the driveway one afternoon, Ex noticed the lawn. He said that his lawn looked good. His lawn.


            We went inside his house and I made a dinner he decided not to eat. But that’s another story…
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