takes
a beating.
three floors up,
two rooms and a bath
in the garden apartments
overlooking
a cemetery
and a pawn shop.
who cares
if the toilet
overflows, or what
the dog
does on the carpet in
the corner.
leave the pot roast on
the stove,
the browned iceberg
lettuce
in the bin.
that drip from the ceiling
is someone
else's problem now,
as is the cracked window,
and lock
on the sliding glass door.
we're only here for
a few months
more
and we'll be on the road again,
to greener
pastures,
kissing the security
deposit goodbye
once more.
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