zoo girl

how do you like your new place,
I ask my friend cathy
on the phone.
she's moved to the burbs,
beyond the beltway,
up the pike to where the new
town center has
grown from a patch
of weeds. the clean new
buildings have risen where
an old bowling alley once stood.
I miss my old place,
she says.
there is sadness in her voice.
she lived across
from the zoo.
over the zoo bar.
places to go in walking
distance
in either direction.
the Avalon. the glorious
Avalon.
I miss hearing the monkeys
at night,
she says. I miss
the clanking of my old
radiator.
the smells in the hallway
of people
cooking. I miss the broken
elevator
and the dark stairwells.
I miss no parking,
and the sound of traffic
out my window. the choking
of buses as they rolled
up connecticut avenue,
the sirens,
the arguments
on the sidewalk at three
a.m..
it'll be fine, I tell her.
you'll get used to the new
place. maybe, she says.
maybe. but not once has
the power gone out.