Yelling

Easier, I think,

For the huge Samoan lover upstairs, who 

Swears she betrayed him,

**** her, how could she? How could she, how could she?

And the she of her snatches his words and makes them

Whatever she feels like;

She feels them and throws them, she spits and she leaves –

When she goes,

It is silent upstairs.

But he knows

He’s been heard.

Worse for the she down our street who with

Streaming and knobbled and whitening hair

Peers into her pockets and yells

At the nobody there.