The one room spoke only green.
The rocker creaked green, the dresser groaned green.
The refrigerator whispered green secrets to the middle-aged bed.
Victor the landlord filled the room with green paint.
Then he pulled the plug: simple, effective decorating.
The extra paint seeped to the next apartment.
Three Peruvians living there bounced basketballs, three AM favorite practice time.
I woke and rolled to bedside, seeing out the one window:
Six foot neon letters screaming BLOOD.
The temporarily cleaned-up junkies sold it there for cash.
All I could hear was the refrigerator humming on and off, on and off.
then the green rusted gates to sleep closed behind me.
Yet how could I not love it--
Our first home, our first shared bed.