Le Chanteur


I’d forgotten my alarm clock, 
but he woke me every morning with his singing.  
His voice was deep…melodic…insouciant.
Was he shaving or preparing le petit dejeuner?
I couldn’t tell.

He sang no words, but his la la la’s were not random. 
It didn’t matter that I couldn’t place the tune.
I had never known anyone who greeted each day with a song.
I listened from the bed beside the thin apartment wall, 
wondering if I had the courage to knock on his door.