Five days a week most weeks,
I hear a radio
playing out front
around seven AM.
Last notes of a current hit drain
away; another one starts.
A car horn insists from the curb
that someone is late
meeting someone. Hard footsteps
down the back stairs from
the third floor. A soft exchange of
Spanish. A van door
slides open, closes
quickly with a deep
chunk. The motor pitch
rises, the tires hiss, and then
all of it fades away
till tomorrow, same time.
It is torture on some days,
comfort on others, depending
on how the day before felt,
how my bed treated me last night,
what I expect from the rest
of this day and the day to follow.
On any day I do not hear it,
I awake as if I had. That is
torture some on days,
comfort on others.
Now and then I only hear
the radio and then fall asleep
again, or wake to the van
pulling away. I wonder then
if I have missed
a variation
that might have
changed my life,
then
I stop wondering
and my life
goes on unchanged.
