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There are gaps in the particleboard;
quince wads fill the breaches.
Nicotine newspapers underlay the linoleum.
It's a rented place, he tiptoes
around its yellow layers.
He has a friend he visits on Sunday afternoons.
The walls of her bedsit are paper thin.
She thinks her neighbors scratch on them,
thinks they are writing to her.
She will stand in front of him naked,
eyes closed while she masturbates.
She wants him to watch her.
She's deathly frightened people will overhear.
Afterward, they sit side by side
on the small bed reading the tabloids.
Then they walk to a local pub,
sit quietly in a corner, not talking
holding hands until closing time.
One day her bedsit is empty,
she has gone, leaving no note.
On the other side of the city
he lands a job with a room in a hotel.
His new room is narrow, clean and white.

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