Lath and Plaster

The new people are quiet,

or maybe the wall is thicker than I thought.

Then, at midnight, the vibration starts—

a dull, steady thrumming

of a phone left on the wood.

It’s not a sound, exactly.

It’s a persistent itch inside the ear,

a mechanical insect

trying to burrow through the lath.

Someone is being called.

Someone isn’t picking up.

The drywall carries the pulse of the motor

until the room feels like it’s shivering.