Years ago, a lie. A woman in the city spoke of neighbors
she would spy upon       ;       this is easy when you live
within cube towers stacked tightly like in your freezer.
The liar said she watched a couple fall in love, have sex.

Eat. Drink. Then the man was a matchstick prone in bed.
The liar watched people come to look at him. Then one day,
he was gone. I know this is a lie because death in America
is not quite so dignified. To die in your bed surrounded by

those who tended your flame is a luxury afforded to few.
Really, you are lucky if the bed you lie in is not a sterile
cot or a rickety futon stained by strangers. You are lucky to
see your child, your mother, your person. You are lucky if

you have eaten anything or enjoyed a glass of clean water
chilled & guided by the clean hands of the aforementioned.
At night I watch my neighbors in their kitchen. Sometimes,
the man is shirtless in the otherwise bland chirping of frogs.