“WHAT I’LL MISS ABOUT THIS APARTMENT, WHAT I WON’T” by Dan Flore

I’ll miss the shelf by the door where we keep Tulip’s cat treats. I won’t miss the ugly depression brown carpeting in the hallway. I’ll miss the guarantee of housing, I won’t miss the memories of my sickness stuck to the walls like abstract paintings of Satan. I’ll miss the sun in the morning on the deck, I won’t miss that guy I see who moves like a gargoyle in and out of the building. I’ll miss overhearing the neighbor mom talking to her kids about things like crayons and crayfish. I won’t miss the black awning with the building number flapping like the cape of Jack the Ripper in the wind. I’ll miss pancakes at the kitchen table, I won’t miss the stack of bills there that led to this housing crisis. I’ll miss Donald and Melissa, our friends next door, who brought peace like a still summer day wherever they went. I won’t miss the office trying to make me feel like I was a person and not a number in their computer. I’ll miss staying here, I won’t miss it after I leave.