The Pretty Cool Girl in Apartment 36.

The Pretty Cool Girl in Apartment 36

by james bezerra

With fruit-colored

tapestry of arm tattoo,

Dr. Who bumper stickers,

and waves of The Smiths

transmuted through her walls,

it is easy to love -

and never talk to -

the pretty, cool girl

in Apartment 36.

The whole building sags a sigh

when she goes away to work.

Wags a tail when her Camry

crosses back over

shimmering asphalt horizon

of Reseda Boulevard.

From behind plastic blinds

we all quietly wish that

the men she brings to the pool

would be a little

more interesting;

we have, after all,

exceedingly high expectations

for our pretty,

cool girl in apartment 36.

If all that tan

cold beauty

and bleeding hot aloofness

only buys her the attention

of us

and forgettable men,

then there is a flaw

in the formula

of the universe.

There is a bug

in the code

of everything.

There must be a glitch

in the matrix

which makes it

possible for her

only love to come

from the hidden,

the hopeless

and the reticent.

.

.

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