fossilized tree sap

Ode to my apartment

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
Your floors are not level, your walls not square.
Your air is smoky, and very cold in winter.
Your radiators do not work.
The stairs to reach you are steep and dangerous.
Laundry may be free,
but I must go outdoors to get there.
Your water pressure slows to a trickle
when neighbors turn on a faucet.
You keep me waiting for several minutes
before sending hot water to the kitchen.
You allow noise to flow freely between apartments,
and various odors to hang in the air.
The nails in your floor hurt my feet,
Your light fixtures are ugly and work intermittently.
You may be a historic structure,
but the beauty you once had is masked
by years of halfhearted attempts at repair.
Your wallpaper is dirty and torn,
Your walls pitted with the fading memory of renters past.
Though your closets are many,
your kitchen cabinets and counters are few.
Your sinks and tub are old,
Your separate hot and cold faucets leaky and inconvenient.
Your various walls made only of paneling are flimsy,
Your unlocked door to the neighboring unit unnerving.
Your electrical wiring is downright scary,
with the slightest wrong move knocking out the lights.
The lock on your door is difficult to open,
And your entryway is impossibly narrow.
It is not your fault that the neighbors are noisy and inconsiderate,
but you seem to attract them in droves.
You have provided me with shelter for three years,
The first two being pleasant
but the last one being torturous.
You are spacious but inconvenient,
Well-lit but poorly insulated,
Historic but deteriorated.
Please do not resent my abandonment,
as I am moving to a better place.
I will remember you,
if only to tell stories of you to my children one day.
Goodbye, I hope you will find someone
that you can make very happy.