Thursday, November 3, 2022

our shared thin walls

i hear the baby
crying
next door. the scream
and wailing
comes through the wall.
the decibels
no different than an ambulance
siren.
it seems
like just yesterday
when i heard
the young married
couple 
making love.
moments after
he carried her across
the threshold.
the symphony of
bedsprings
cascading through
our shared
thin walls,
and now this.
an infant that barely
crawls.
i miss the old piano
teacher
who lived there.
her unmusical students
banging fingers
against the out of tune
keyboard.

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