By | 1 May 2019

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.

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