We were told
it was new and we were bad
for living unmarried with roommates in The City.
But here are the wounded Afghan war vet
and underemployed genius
splitting an apartment in London
like San Francisco like Brooklyn like Austin.
I have a dog.
I’m lazy, but I can’t sleep.
When I’m depressed, I don’t speak.
Man buns or deerstalkers,
yoga pants or tweed,
there are always cities, rooms in cities, strangers.
Loud noises—I can’t.
My interests include DIY chemistry and the violin.
I’m supposed to be a doctor.
I don’t understand the solar system.
Always the ceaseless press of questions
in lonely, messy rooms.
Always something to learn