The Sublet

There is something 

black and soft growing

behind the toilet. 

No, I haven't touched it,

it just looks soft.

Upon inspection,

it has free time, 

does reformer pilates, 

and ignores its guarantor. 

I think it is making me sick.

The hanging garden

is sliding down and turning

an effervescent brown. 

The return of my deposit

relies on resurrection.

There is ice inside 

the window pane

and the smell of

the space heater 

burning

wakes me up

to remind me,

you are a lucky one.

I am, I am.

There is a squatter

on the staircase

who calls me whore

when I say good night.

He reminds me 

to be more careful

with my words.