Maintenance

The landlord’s shadow on the frosted glass—

I thought it was a ghost, or worse,

the guy who comes to see why the sink is slow.

I held my breath. I didn't move a toe.

The towel rack is hanging by a thread,

or a hair tie, actually. A loop of red

elastic I stole from the bathroom floor.

It snapped this morning. It really swore—

no, it just bit. It hit me in the eye.

A tiny burst vein like a map of a lie.

I looked at the hole where the screw should be.

The plastic anchor is leaning out at me,

yellow and loose like a tooth that’s done.

I’ll fix it tomorrow. Or maybe—

well, it’s not exactly hurting anyone.