Deborah Blakely
Poem for my First Apartment
God bless hunger
and the too hot street with no parking, and
the neighbor who always lets me in the bar
on the corner of Highland and Franklin Avenues.
God bless punk and plaid,
skinny boys and chlorine bleach
and you, under my window
calling Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
black-eyed
raccoon rattling trashcans
and roommates.
And God bless the futon couch,
fairytales
the glass table
littered with straws, oh God--
I mostly thank you
for youthful oblivion.
For rotten Sundays
and thrift stores,
needles, scissors, safety pins,
nitrous oxide
dreams, and
things that can be stitched back together.
God bless poverty,
hair-do’s, Kerouac,
my first tax return,
noise complaints
vodka
too much sex--
my mattress on the floor--
the empty kitchen
and food that needs no refrigeration.
God bless pool parties and urban wildlife.
God bless the landlord who leaves me a refrigerator.
