running bathwater on one side,
Miles Davis on the other,
above, the wannabe diva
screeching something from Turandot
in my one room and half-kitchen,
a small black and white TV,
a pawn shop guitar,
a purring ginger cat,
another neighbor in my one chair
drinking my last beer,
complaining how he can’t get a job,
down below, the small falafel shop
squeezed with, hungry dancers, artists,
on the sidewalk, a street musician
strumming the poor up for change,
a junkie crashed on a stoop,
the local whore grocery shopping
or is that the local grocery shopper whoring,
and all hi the name of
life experience, required research –
on the table, a second hand typewriter,
a blank sheet of paper,
awaiting the payoff