My apartment is in the basement
of an old row home in Baltimore.
Sometimes it’s really cozy–
brick walls and fake fireplaces,
kitchen in the living room.
Other times it feels like a dungeon–
sunlight-less and fruit flies,
cement under the carpet.
It’s all usually okay,
unless my neighbors sit on the stoop
outside of my only bedroom window
and talk from 5 p.m. to 10 p.m.
And I really just want to yell out,
Hey! I’m trying to live down here!