Drywall

2am and I was staring at the outlet,

the plastic cover yellowed at the seam —

studying it the way you study something

when you're trying not to hear a thing.

Through the plaster: I just don't know what I did.

Five times. To someone not responding,

or responding low enough that none of it

could make it through the wall. The wondering.

I didn't move. I thought if she found out

I was in there listening, that would be

somehow worse than her not knowing —

some secondary embarrassment, for me.

She stopped around 2:30.

The apartment came back to itself.

I lay in the dark a while longer,

doing nothing particularly useful with myself.