2007-04-13
The Chinese Man Downstairs
He arrives home late
and yet on the brink of morning
I hear his dry footsteps on the stairs
Sliding slender notes under our crooked door.
Please not to release oil from windows
We tape them on the wall in the living room
A gallery of asymmetrical English,
A litany of complaints we didn’t know
We were capable of eliciting
Please no the people on the stairs in loud feet
There was the time I failed to lock the front door
And he found a kitten in front of his door
This we gathered from
To lock door I have small cats in my doorstep
To say his handwriting was terrible would be untrue
His notes were amazing, his willowy penmanship
Warped and delightful.
How our guests marveled at his way with words!
I have enough with the trumpeting, Please to quiet
We moved because we could never do anything right
Because the wall in the living room grew scaled with
Slips of white paper, taped like sedimentary upset
We began to feel burdened with our faults.
Today, I wish I had saved a few of them
Your flipperies are troublesome
Alas, we left them behind for his amusement
Or because we could not bear to take his tiny complaints
Into the next apartment.