The Rest We Deserve

Our walls are thin, and the man who won’t say hello

Back to me in the morning as we lock ourselves out

Of our homes—won’t even nod my way as black men

Do when they see themselves in you—sings “Precious,

Precious,” the only song he must know, to the newborn

Other neighbors tell me is all he has left of a woman

Who died, went to rehab, or left him for another,

Depending on the fool telling the story and the time

Of day it gets told. I don’t know why it bothers me.

I don’t need him to love me the way he loves that child,

Pacing an apartment I imagine looks just like mine

With a baby in his arms, none of us allowed the rest

We deserve, him awful and off-key, her—is it a she?—

Shrill as any abandoned animal should be. I want

To hurt him, and I want to help. I think of knocking

To say he doesn’t have to be polite to me, but he should

Try stuffing the kid in a drawer and closing it; or

Knocking to show him the magic made when you sit

An infant in a car seat on top of a washer while you do

A little late-night laundry. Why do I think he owes me,

That all the words to Jackie Moore’s one hit make him

Mine enough not to mind some man he sees me kiss good-

Bye while he rolls his eyes, a baby strapped to his chest,

A tie around his neck, and me yawning because somebody

Wouldn’t let me sleep, everyone wishing any voice in this

Building could sing for the thing growing in the smallest

Of us when we open our mouths at odd hours to shriek?