One doesn’t intend to comment on

strangers lives, but when you wake

to a glass shattering on the floor

above you, followed by a scream

and then the words I refuse,

repeated, you know that sleep

will not return for quite some time.


They divorced and for a while

it was quite. The husband would wander

the neighborhood in white undershirts,

the wife presumably far away. Then

they discovered the phone and a whole

new kind of one sided argument erupted,

louder, with no broken dishes.


Our next door neighbors were happy,

and in love, which is a different sort

of problem. A different set of sounds.


by Caitlin Elizabeth Thomson  

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