He wrote a letter

He wrote a letter

Shoved it under the door

More out than in

Spidery handwriting

A small, cramped script

Almost a scrawl,

He was born to be wild

On a laptop,

Written on a cheap, lined notepaper

Very polite

In a Uriah Heep “ever so ‘umble” way

Expressing his sorrow

It had come to this

But the music was too loud

The drumming, driving him

To distraction

Reverberating through his walls

Echoing through the halls

Filling his head with noise

Too difficult to ignore

Especially at weekends

When he was at home

Sad to think about

All that upset

The wonder of making noise

When he wasn’t there

Perhaps in his absence

He would install a noise monitor

But could I please stop

No offence intended.

None taken,

Would be an untruth

As the truth was

Using headphones

There was little noise

Other than the music,

Come on feel the noise

Baby,

In the middle of the day

Hardly a capital offence

But I wrote back

Shoved it under his door

More in than out

Informed him I was using headphones

Asked if it was not the drums

But the music he could hear

Suggesting a compromise,

I would listen to the music

On Bluetooth

To minimise

Any inconvenient

Noise disruption

I hoped it would suffice

And I really do

As if I get another letter

An inconvenient

Interpersonal truth

Though it may be

I might just stop

Playing nice.