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.

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…