Midnight poem written in the heat of a Canadian July. The narrator is suffering from tooth decay and a kind of midsummer madness, on account of certain conflicts including their lonesome tenancy in a loft apartment that is without air conditioning, in the city's downtown core. The narrator's landlady, Carole, is elderly and has not appeared in weeks, leading the panic-stricken tenant to presume she has died and that her body is rotting on the floor below.
Having trouble with the thought of sleep as
I'm afraid there are signs she could be dead, below
Sorry I haven't checked yet but
in the meanwhile
staying up eating apple turnovers
and drinking the beer I half
Ironic, that I can eat
instead of sleep
over the supposed Dead.
The spiders have taken over, up here
and I think it's time to take back
and I think Carole would agree
and be glad she has no pain no more,
'cause as for me,
my teeth are damned near killin'.