This is way old and has been published in some other stuff, but it was also just accepted in the new Springfield writing magazine, The Writer's Block.
Since I feel so negatively about the older stuff I've written, I should spend less time concerning myself with how I am going to handle my sex life and less time drinking myself stupid, and more time writing. I'll let you know how that works out. :)To the Girls Upstairs
You are nice; it is lucky we are neighbors.
I don’t have cable, but you do
and I feel as if I’m there with you
and your T.V. friends
until past midnight each night.
I don’t feel I have the standard music staples
every college student should own. But you play The Dead -
pictures, posters, and paraphernalia greet me
when I come to the door. Through you,
I receive my daily dose of classic rock.
And techno. I don’t care for it myself
but my roommate loves it.
It’s convenient that you’ve picked up the C.D.s
she hasn’t purchased herself.
It is too bad about the heat
but 62 is more than enough
to prevent pipes from freezing. I heard
the girls last year bought space heaters.
Maybe you’ll get one for your bird.
I know he gets cold.
I bet your ferrets are especially cute
when they huddle together in the night.
Do they mate more in the winter?
If not, they may be distracted by the television. You could
buy movies, to set the mood.
I have extra blankets you can borrow; I have five
on my bed alone. But I’ve heard your furniture move
and assume the activity
keeps you warm.
My roommate says it’s your bed banging
But your boyfriend only visits
every other weekend.
I do not feel it is my place
to ask. Instead, I keep my eyes open
for any rearranging.