Before Soho was a shopping mall

lifetimes ago

spent behind these brick walls

with cereal-crunching rodents

six flights up

steep slab stairs

in day-job heels.

-

A claw foot tub

wrapped by a vintage screen

anchoring a crummy kitchen

leaks into the apartment below,

lo siento to the angry neighbor

banging on my door

his soiled tank top

speckled with spittle

flying from twisted lips.

-

The squeaky ill-fitting door

on a water closet

hides the sliver

of a broken window

boarded over just enough

to ensure a frozen seat

on the chain-pull toilet,

an ice fishing hut

in lower Manhattan.

-

A futon mattress piled

on scuffed wood floors

next to a rotary dial phone,

an answering machine

blinking with anxious lovers.

A hissing clanking radiator

tucks under a large window