Alex Wells Shapiro
a rust chewed pipe

The glug above my left ear
(a rust chewed pipe next
to my right arm) manifests
as yellow beads welling at
my bedfoot ; a neighbor stabs
my wall open with the sharp
side of a hammer tearing up
drywall in strips & puffs ;
we determine the issue is time
& agree nearby sinks cannot be
used & he slops a patch across
the fresh cavity. The super’s
plumber cousin is scheduled
to come tomorrow ; overnight
beads run & recede & a tide of
dehydrated piss rises around
my mattress ; I scoop it out
the windows with the super
& his cousin & all the neighbors
in glasses & our hands as the sun
begins scaling lakefront high rises,
flinching at back splash, shouts of
‘Incoming!’ accompanying each
toss, down to our ankles ; Chris installs
a new strip of pipe as I read Thoreau to teens
thru my laptop in the corner of the room ; I mute
when his smile signals completion ; he reassures
me he added an extra sheet of drywall as he cleans
his boots & rolls his dripping gloves off onto our

hallway tile ; I
offer him a beer
& he declines for
religious reasons
so I drink alone as
he explains his day
; a wiring gig down-
town ; an unspecified
delivery ; he says he’ll
be back to replace an-
other pipe tomorrow &
we plan a lunchtime cig
break but I’ve never
seen his face again.

Alex Wells Shapiro (he/him) is a poet and artist from the Hudson Valley, living in Chicago. He reads submissions for Frontier Poetry, serves as Business and Grants Manager for Another Chicago Magazine, and co-curates Exhibit B: A Reading Series presented by The Guild Literary Complex. His poems are published or forthcoming in Fourteen Hills, Fatal Flaw, The Under Review, and elsewhere. His debut poetry collection, Insect Architecture, is available for preorder now from Unbound Edition Press.

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