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it is dark enough
november, a particularly insistent melancholy
appliance sounds echoing about the room
and the others
who are milling around, outside, somehow oblivious
to all of the light being drained from the world


inside these apartment buildings, with our lives stacked
one on top of the other
our private moments shared through thin walls
no one knows anyone else here
no one wants to
unspoken agreements to pretend we don't hear
how angry he was last night
how she cries every other day, for some reason
smile and nod in the hallway, that is all


it has been hours now, sitting here in the almost quiet
a television, not mine
the cold rain dripping off the roof
while we make ourselves alone

together

and wait for the end

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