I Think It’s About Time

It's been fun, but I'm done dealing with
walls so thin, nothing could ever live in them,
walls so thin I can still hear my neighbor's orgasm from last week,
walls so thin that they're see through,
walls so thin that no one likes my music anymore.

I can finally say goodbye to
three empty toothpaste tubes ambushing my sink
and a toothbrush that's been in my mouth
for far too long...
I'm afraid that it's starting to think romantically.

No more ass hair carpets on the back of my toilet.
It will only be mine now, which,
of course, is a little lonely and
still cause for alarm,
but it's more of a sample rug swatch than a carpet.

The deep den brother and his marijuana addiction,
the constant door knocker with his endless tall tales,
the "can't do a crime" cat with her rules with no sand,
and the DMT damsel who still searches for a home
are all hugs damned for a reunion in years to come.

I fear I will become the same villain that plagues my kitchen.
A rather bombastic blister, spraying wordy seltzers
into the eyes and ears of Whitman's children.
He knows not why he yodels and he cares not that
it has gone oh-so out of fashion.

I think it's time I hitch hike out of ear shot,
where inevitable erosion will be nothing
but dust caught by my lashes.
The eternal flames will lick my coat tails,
as I pitch a tent in a Goldilock zone,
fit for only me, the prince of all paupers.

Keegan Shaw 5/18/20