The Thin Floor
A great bad poem about a sort of affirmative action
by Julie R. Neidlinger

In the dark I lay there wondering if
I ought not to have purchased a higher grade pillow.
I rued the architect’s wisdom
in building the bedrooms atop each other.

Edgar wrote about a floor not thick enough
to hold at bay the sounds
that might drive one mad
like the raven.

Like clockwork I know (my alarm clock no match)
I’ll be awakened around 11:30 or 12.
The chill autumn air meaning my window fan no longer
my white-noise-Rip-Van-Winkle friend.

In an attempt to think positively
I noted that she was very affirmative
and there was definitely action going on.
A new kind of “yes-man”.

Still, it is too much knowledge
for me to bear
when crossing paths by the parked cars
or getting the mail.

Seeing the sheets hanging
on the clothesline on laundry day
made me think of blue light specials
and too many forensic TV shows.

I brought my clarinet from home
for nefarious purposes;
No one uses clarinets for mood music
this side of Hades.

The thin floor goes both ways.