Space

Living in the city
Means that space is tight.
Many folks who need more room
Have simply taken flight.

But if you’ve stayed, you’ve managed
To organize and shift
So every item has its place;
No person has short shrift.

With built-ins, shelves and bunk beds,
You’ve learned to make it work;
Though friends of yours from out-of-town
Might think that you’re berserk.

Yet it’s okay to covet
A little extra room.
It’s normal and appropriate
And healthy, I assume.

Unless you’re fairly wealthy,
Or luckier than most,
You suffer from cramped-itis,
So simply diagnosed.

You’d love a walk-in closet,
Would die for half a bath;
Nine hundred square feet has no wiggle room –
Just do the math.

Most days I hardly notice.
In fact, I’m quite content.
I can’t complain, I’ve sacrificed
To pay a meager rent.

But once in a great while,
I think of my decision;
Staying in the city many view
With true derision.

I do not have a garden,
Or back yard for a grill,
But Central Park does beckon
And fortifies me still.

There’s magic out my window:
Life’s bustling and rosy;
Yet here inside my city space,
I’m comfortable and cozy.