In the room one over, the radio
dollops out bingo winners along
the southern shorelines, slowly,
patiently, the old woman listens with
One floor up the old couple
try to do it to Cohen like
they used to and it is
awkward and squeaky.
Down below a near-retired
and exuberantly drinking
school teacher whips another
batch of profanities up for her
poor, meek husband, who kind
of resembles James Cromwell but
with none of the power of his roles.
I especially like the American Horror Story
Character; he out did himself there.
I wonder if any war criminals live in
this area? I don’t have any particular suspects,
The local drunks are too far gone, the
criminal element far too juvenile and high.
Nazi’s though, they make the best villains.
A couple doors down a gay couple
who have moon rays on the lawn
that are always getting
kicked over, though not for any
just the proximity to the
housing area where, not
As though they have a choice
in the matter, the poor pass on
criminal excuses and anger and
addiction (that’s what the screen says, anyway)
I’ve tried despite my inclinations,
to remain a more hopeful
And empathetic sort.
Lord knows they’ve tried.
I remember a bus trip from BC
o Ont, and me and this
Really nice black guy from Montreal
were sharing smokes much of the way.
I ran short half way back,
so it was handy. But anyway this
couple got on somewhere in Calgary.
Screaming baby. Memorable.
I was such a miserable young traveler.
In the middle of the
night the young couple got into
some intense thing.
It increased an audible decibel.
The look on the Montreal guys
face when we both heard the slap,
the whimper that chased
after it, and that strange human moment
where we both I assume
considered what options
were next available.
There aren’t any hero’s
In that one I’m afraid.
The fight ended and
the other passengers all
pretended to be sleeping
while the girl hid her weeping
and the repentant and shamed
young boy sternly