The ceiling fan on high
Sounding like nervously cracking knuckles
Or a wind-up clock with arrhythmia...
The mini-fridge condenser humming
And only very occasionally gurgling...
The refrigerant circulating,
Sounding like slow, steady, deep breathing...
Birdsong outside the bedroom window,
Or, rather, grackles whooping and clicking...
Not exactly songbird lyrics,
But they're birds,
And they sing like no one is listening
Even if they can't carry a tune...
Slight woosh from the air ducts
Vented from the wall
Up near the ceiling...
If you close your eyes and listen
You hear I-35 traffic in front,
And Route 271 behind,
Both being equidistant from the apartment complex...
Barely perceptible traffic
Once you've gotten used to it...
Random mumbled conversations
Pass by under grackle squawks...
Random bass beats
From cars with the volume up and the windows down...
The highs don't travel far,
But the lows carry deeper into the foundation...
Shuffling feet in the kitchen...
Microwave chirps
And then hums...
Someone moving around upstairs...
Thumps and ceiling creak...
A car engine revving on start-up...
Some small plastic wheels
Roll scraping over the sidewalk...
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