We have a couple renting from us
below. One morning the boyfriend
shouts FUCK!!
and I think, has he hit her? Is this
what I’ve brought into my house?
When they leave
I’m at the kitchen window
peering through the curtains
for the slightest limp
or look, but she’s chatting away
with a cigarette and he’s strolling
along with his hands in his pockets, and I am
standing there in my underwear, near-empty
milk carton in hand, feeling
a little ripped off. It’s only when I come home
to find they’ve taken out the garbage for me
do I begin to understand.
The next day I shout GODDAMIT!!
punch a hole in the wall
and plant some violets
under their window.
(c) 2007 Rocco de Giacomo