The Fieldstone Review

The new place

When we moved in
history shuffled over slightly
on the couch,
his spot where patterns
in the fabric were worn
he gave up
but continued smoking
and sighing
and talking about Marx.
My girlfriend liked him at first
but after
one night
when he told her she looked like
her mother's picture on the fridge
and wouldn't apologize
she stopped talking to him –
I don’t mind him
but there’s lots of people I don’t mind:
with the barking dogs,
space and matter and their new kid,
I kind of like the building.
Compared to my old place
where I and emptiness
shared that Ikea bed
in the middle of nowhere
this is a dream.
The street’s louder here,
the windows bright.