>Upstairs got rhythm; downstairs a break-up on progress. Gotta love condo living on a Saturday night. At least the next door dog isn't barking...until dawn, that is...
Surprisingly, one friend seemed to envy me my my neighbors' shenanigans. Further explanation seemed prudent.
>Well, by the time the couple upstairs finished their mattress-drumming session (odd considering they had a friend snoring away on an inflatable bed in the living room), I'd already missed the reasons for the break-up and it had degenerated into "but I love you I want to be with you" and "but I don't trust you anymore you're driving me crazy" and "why why why" back and forth for like 2 hours, culminating in a door slam around 2:00 a.m. followed by angry stomping up and down the length of the apartment until around 4. So far this morning it's been very quiet. Stay tuned for the next installment of Nob Hill condo drama...
Hm. Still - applause for living in a real-life soap opera? These events inspired the following poem, "Saturday":
The cat stretches his legs trembling
the exhale a warm rumble on the back of the hand.
The remains of dinner did not make it to the sink
must remember to not step on plate in the dark.
Today no one spoke but tomorrow phone calls
day after is gas drive work waiting teaching.
Above the floor rumbles chuckling music laugher
heavy footsteps mean the neighbor has a guest.
Below crying screaming “but I love you”
silence door slam silence door slam thump silence.
Caught between one really might not need any more
another sigh whine claws dig gently into the thigh.
Alone not lonely must remember this means
dishes can wait until tomorrow
a pile of books by the favored chair
the cat will join in bed sometime after midnight.
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