112 Apartment F to 109 Apartment A

December 18, 1998

I hurl back to that baroque cluster

of discomfort that was once the shaky

quarters, belonging to me and my

cousins.

I protest to fully recollect it.

How galactic ally malcontent they were,

my cousins, in rooms that grated the

rooms' defensive.

Stormily, psychosomatically, my body

was the ultimate fire; the urchins

with whom I shared rooms faced my

burning strife daily, that flickered

higher and higher.

They were rightfully burned by my

words, and failed to meet my one

simple desire; to maintain cleanliness.

Ornery was a ruler, but I love my - our - rooms,

those among the two-story brick duplex,

once believed a housing project.

Why did my cousins make mad the rooms?

Or piled high therein their filthy truths?

Honestly, they weren't home-trained.

Sickening to think that a chauvinist's

hand are bred to stirrup; everyone

Else’s must clean.

But I thank you rooms. I thank you

For tolerating us - through only one us

wanted to straighten you both up.

Now, I'm gone away and so are my

cousins.

There were good times had in you; thank

you goodness the housing authority

didn't report you or my cousins, or lead

you into some stinking, rancorous

abyss - thank you for having us.

© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy