Happy April everything is terrible

someone lives
in apartment four.
I know it because I’ve heard her fucking.
packages with her name appear
and disappear off the porch.
one whole week her snow boots were left
drying by the vents.
she likes to time her fucking,
ensuring it begins twenty to forty minutes
after I have fallen asleep, and lasts
until I have contemplated setting a small fire
both to force an evacuation (and a presumptive end
to the fucking) but also
in retaliation for the reminder
my own bed has never been
such a showy symphony.
I know she lives there
despite never having seen her;
the same way I know
the promise “nothing will change
between us” has been
quietly and unceremoniously broken.
saying we have not become
strangers by the distance
does as much good as saying
apartment four is empty.
(believe me, I know about the word empty
and the many meanings it can bear.)
there is no one to blame for this
but the both of us. I never put
my boots by the vents and now
it’s April and they are dripping wet

Brenna Twohy