Three in the morning, I dance
the huckle-buck with my roomie—
two of us crooning
Some Enchanted Evening,
the hallway window open. 

Mrs. Osadjca in 5D thinks
we’re “homosectionals,” thinks
in black & white, the flame
of Christian clarity.  The light
beneath her locked door invites us 
to serenade her

across a crowded room...
till we hear her cursing in Greek
while we fumble the wrong key
into our lock.  The super’s cat’s 
studied non-observance as we stagger

inside our floodlit apartment—
MINOLTA reds & greens
blazing through a shadeless pane—
a pigeon thumping its reflection,
the radiator’s broken English,

my unset clock blinking
while I watch the taxis trace
Manhattan—starless, moonless,
the din, the haze,
a working theory for night.

                    Michael Steffen