All things considered,
Life really ain’t so bad.

The floor might be a marsh,
Mold spreading
Like fire on paper,
The pipes
Busted.

And though the ceiling is in good shape,
The band is tuning up their skin instruments,
Pacing back and forth to the beat of an untuned snare drum.

They sound like they’re fighting,
Cross with whichever one wants to play lead vocals.
And the dirty spring,
Running across the floor,
Parallel to the mess happening up above,
Supports air,
Completely still
Living in between.

This loose purgatory ain’t so bad.

No checks have bounced today.

And although this life really ain’t so bad,
Maybe,
It’s time to find a new apartment.

Contributor Bio:

Paul Wallace is a poet, playwright, actor and proud member of IATSE local 52 in the Grip Department. The son of a retired FDNY Battalion chief and former Dialysis nurse, he is from Franklin Square, Long Island with deep ties in the Catskill region near Mount Tremper. He currently resides in Astoria Queens where his favorite sports teams crush his spirit on a nightly basis. He’s deeply appreciative of Bare Knuckles Press for accepting his submission and you as well for taking the time to read his work. Much Obliged friends.