untitled 129
the hallways smell clean on Saturday
doing laundry in the basement and walking
barefoot back the carpeted halls
(which were cracked tile and concrete not so long ago
but the neighbors never knew that)
the men on their hands and knees cleaning white windowsills
and doorway arches they maybe never wanted and certainly didn’t need anyway
(we’ve lost more people in this building
with more empty apartments
more moving away
rent hiked
or disappeared
all for some weekend washing)
once when I was young we played handball here
but no balls bounce on newly painted walls
so I don’t stand long now waiting
instead returning to my own lone apartment still old and dusty
(covered in dust
I clean and yet it never seems clean
it must come out of the walls
secreted years of human dander and lived in musk
it must, I’ve said, as I believe, my mother has said before me
before she gave up dusting
because really, what’s the point)
but it smells like coffee and my childhood today
and for that I’ll wear fresh clean clothes tonight
to dance down old familiar broadway boulevard
and think of my stores
the deli and the dive bar
gone but not wiped clean
not forgotten by me
