Half Rooms in Sunnyside

By L.DISANE

When we play music,

Our volumes have to be uncomfortably low.

We are yet to afford spaces,

Where walls are room dividers.

 

In the half rooms we occupy,

My neighbour’s conversation

Is also my conversation.

Sometimes it is even louder than my music.

 

I just thank God that I do not understand their language

And I thank God that they do not understand my language

At least in that way,

It is still private.

 

Private enough for each of us to gossip and enjoy ourselves.

 

But in life

there are other sounds which aren’t language specific

Like a woman moaning during sex

I never know what to do with my ears at this point.

I’m just grateful that my neighbour is not a stallion that goes on forever

Five minutes, and my awkwardness is ejaculated.

I do, however, feel pity for his lady companion,

She might never reach an orgasm in this relationship

It seems that when he is done, she must also be done.

Or maybe they are being considerate;

Rushing along to the conclusion,

so that I do not hear their passionate embrace.

 

Moral of the story: work hard guys

Work so hard that you can afford spaces reserved only for you.

Spaces where the neighbour’s conversation has lost its sonic strength

By the time it reaches your eardrums.

That is true privacy.

 

Grow to occupy spaces where a fence is the property divider.

Not the “best we can make out of this situation” privacy

Normally found in the half rooms in Sunnyside.