outside my window
outside my window
there is no mercy left for you and me,
just the sound of traffic coughing
and a siren arguing with the night.
a child is crying because she’s hungry,
not in a poem,
not in a metaphor—
hungry like an empty cupboard
that keeps opening itself
out of habit.
I only go out for cigarettes and coffee,
the two small lies
that keep the heart beating
without asking why.
the clerk doesn’t look up,
he’s seen this movie
too many times
and knows how it ends.
we are doomed, hopelessly lost,
heroes of nothing,
braving the cold apartment
where the walls listen
and don’t care.
the heat clicks off like a bad joke.
the floor remembers better days
than we do.
there’s only enough to pay the landlord,
always the landlord—
the god who never answers prayers
but always cashes checks.
food can wait.
hope can wait.
everything waits except the rent.
outside my window
the world keeps going
without permission,
and inside
we sit with our paper cups,
our shaking hands,
our stubborn pulse,
still breathing—
which is either a miracle
or a bad habit
I haven’t managed to quit yet.
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