Poem: I Have Never Met The Man Who Lives Upstairs from My Friend

I Have Never Met The Man Who Lives Upstairs from My Friend

All of that rattling about at night,
shaking and banging, the place is small:
who'd expect such thuds
at such hours
with such regularity.  But
at night the ceiling is all noise,
elephant footsteps,
though, with so many, so often
I think of oversized tarantulas
each furry foot sporting a metal tipped dance loafer.

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