An Ode to the Two-Bedroom Apartment

We must cull
what our lives,
and your walls,
cannot fit.
Room one,
room two.
Where I had a desk,
the baby sleeps,
so I write on the bed.
I must cherish
the multifunctional.
Not even room
for self-hate,
you therapist.

You don’t know
about my drawer,
the bottom one,
where I keep
useless things,
expired IDs,
campaign buttons,
and cassette tapes,
in sweet defiance
of your parsimony.