the walls were thin

when I lived in an apartment.
the walls were thin.

thin enough that you heard nearly
everything.

the flushing of a toilet.
the slamming of a door.

people making love, the symphony
of bed springs.

you heard the arguing.
the threats, the curses.

babies crying.
you heard dishes breaking.

hearts breaking.
you heard the silence when
all was well.

you heard the television,
the radios,

Christmas carols, or led
zeppelin turned up

vibrating the pictures on the wall.

you listened to the lives
around you,
above and below you.

an ongoing play off broadway.

it seemed you knew everything
about them,
but would pass them in the hall
as if you knew nothing.