Stomper

Here's a little thing I wrote about my stompy neighbor

Stomper

Your heavy footfalls belie your slight frame,

You're a stag wearing the severed feet of an elephant.

Your invisible girth boomerangs your non-existent weight into each step,

creating a vertical locomotion powered by testosterone and gravity.

Your walk is a dramatic, self important stomping,

A rushed and intent gait from one side of your apartment to the other,

boney heels like warriors, driving themselves into the loosened linoleum.

You pause at one end to insolently throw down the toilet lid,

making a loud, dry thud that echoes through the pipes connecting our bathrooms.

Every noise you make is pointed and overtly masculine,

shaking the floors with irritating proof of your virility.

It makes me clench my fists until my knuckles lose their color,

my stomach cramps with irritation.

Why can't you walk like me,

a slow meandering directionless pace,

with your heels gently following your toes to seem invisible

to those who listen and those who don't.