vacancy

the empty apartment
has much to say. these floors,
hardwood, both blonde and brown,
scratched, corners
webbed in grey.
the avocado refrigerator
round shouldered
and stocky
like a Russian aunt.
your steps echo
against the thin walls
as you listen to
the clunk of the radiator,
hearing the whistle of
the broken window.
the toilet that never
stops running. there is
the rust ring in the tub,
a drip of soft
brown water clicking.
how many have
come and gone
from here, have jiggled the key
to turn the lock,
have rested
their heads on
striped pillows.
sat on a chair in front
of the window
and ate, watching who
came and went in the courtyard.