At 11 pm I stand at my window

looking out at the moon,

my favourite night-time ritual,

while in the flat above mine

a blue whale,

heart the size of a car,

sings a mournful song.

I imagine it is crying for a lover.

I know what that feels like.
3 pm – peak siesta time.

I close the windows allowing

my well-lit living room to darken.

The couch, a perfect conduit for

my afternoon nap. And as I fall into

a dream of my design

I hear horses canter and gallop

above me.
7 am – fresh coconuts are being grated.

5 pm – they are moving furniture.

7 pm – someone is yelling.

9 am – why do they keep drilling holes?

All the brick and concrete between us

isn’t doing its job.
Somedays it is a testament to my whimsy –

“That sounds like an elephant farting.”

“They must have adopted a family of wild geese.”
Other days are just fury –

“Seriously, how many coconuts can one family eat?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
My parents blame the kids,

but I have a better theory.

My inconsiderate neighbors

are unverified poltergeist activity.