I spend all night trying to convince you

I'd be a good roommate.

You could fall asleep in the bathtub and

I wouldn't turn the water on to wake you.

I won't say a word if you steal my panties and

I find them under your pillow the next day.

Soon I'm drunk and distracted by the prospect

of a glorious piss down the first available drain.

I ask for the restroom and the stall I choose

has an ad for shaving cream on the door.

Directly above, scrawled in pen, the wall reads,

"Fuck you and everyone else that makes me feel banal,"

next to a drawing of a hairy cock and balls.

Fuck you and all crudely drawn genitalia.

Fuck your fifth floor walk-up apartment.

I don't need this, I've got a friend who wants to set me up

with a cute children's puppeteer.  Fuck puppets.

Children, too.  They petrify me.

Time for a smoke.  We leave the club, promise

the bartender we'll be back, but we won't.

I sit on the curb, stuck on bathroom graffiti.

You pull me up just as I get comfortable.

Extra closet space, that's my final offer.  We brush arms