4252 N. Harrison Street, Apt. 388

Encased squarely by our silly concrete floors
And the wrapping paper walls, we can hear
The neighbors watching pro-wrestling
When we're on the floral couch.
The lights short and it's dark in our hidey hole
Where ramen noodles
Dump MSG into our bloodstreams.
We learn not to glance over at movement
Because it's probably something
With six legs and an exoskeleton.
If you listen to both drips,
The shower and the sink,
They make a little waltz
Which is what you and I are doing here.
Nothing fancy, just a little waltz,
And our peasant feet give light to
The one-two-three of the
Water-wasting rhythm