Dear Apt. #3,
This morning on President’s Day, we were awakened by the heavy footsteps of your boyfriend. As I was trying to fall back asleep, I wrote a poem about him to make light of the situation and to keep myself entertained.
Boyfriend of neighbor. Wearing shoes that crash and thunder, rattling the dishes frightened and driving the cats mad. You stomp when you walk, at seven in the morning, on this President’s Day, my vacation day. I forgive you man with heavy footsteps, for walking blows of thunder on hardwood floors that echo like caves– for walking to the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the dining room, to the living room, and back to the kitchen again, for you do not know what you’re doing and I am just too tired to despise you for waking me up so early on the day I wanted to sleep in.
Signed, Apt. #4