I was woken from my sleep again by shouting from next door. "Wake up!" she yelled. "Get up!" she screamed. "You're no good any more."

The last people I lived next to were kindly, gentle folk. The most I really overheard was Sunday evening's poke.

I lived above an old man once whose legs were amputated. His daughter stayed there, smoked a lot, he sleep-talked while sedated.

Considering in abstract all the ways we intersect, The bits of life we hear and share, the private sound's effect -

I wonder if in quiet times they can hear me through the wall, And if I seem a happy chap, or make no sound at all.

(c) me