Behind the Walls

Behind the walls I hear the sound
Of someone’s loud TV.
I’m rarely in this room, by day,
So it won’t bother me.

But it reminds me that we live
Connected, side by side,
With only hints of others’ lives
That snatches do provide:

A glimpse of furniture, perhaps,
A smattering of noise;
But not enough to clue us in
To problems or to joys.

Paul Simon said it best, that
One man’s ceiling’s someone’s floor
And often, of our neighbors,
We learn not a whole lot more.

So all we really know about
The folks behind the walls
Is likely to intrigue us
Just as much as it appalls.