from the twenty first floor of the high-rise
apartment building
on the edge
of the city.
a grand view.
you can see the fireworks
from here
the agent said,
throwing her arms out
to the horizon
as if a maestro
in an orchestra.
free parking too, she winked.
there's a doorman,
and a salon in the lower
floor with
a small market to buy
your everyday
things.
on sunny days you can
sit out on
the balcony if it's not too windy.
who could ask for more.
but i smelled something.
something like
cabbage
fermenting in the hall.
the rising fumes
of Lysol.
oh don't mind that she said,
it's a cleaning
fluid
from the murder suicide
next door.
so what do you think?
the interest rates will never
be lower.
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