Behind the Walls

Behind the walls I hear the sound Of someone’s loud TV. I’m rarely in this room, by day, So it won’t bother me. But it reminds me that we live Connected, side by side, With only hints of others’ lives That snatches do provide: A glimpse of furniture, perhaps, A smattering of noise; But not enough to clue us in To problems or to joys. Paul Simon said it best, that One man’s ceiling’s someone’s floor And often, of our neighbors, We learn not a whole lot more. So all we really know about The folks behind the walls Is likely to intrigue us Just as much as it appalls.