He is arson
I am ocean
We ride the same apartment elevator
He flames commie libs and pushy dames
The floors dawdle past like window-shopping slugs
My waves thirst to tsunami his rant
I flood my mind with oms instead  

For days I go out of my way to avoid him
But fate savors its practical jokes
The next time I douse his spark before he ignites
Happy Donut Day, I gush sweetly
He gawks as if I have boogied naked through a church
What kind of donut do you like? I ask the silence
Don’t eat them, he spits
But I can see the glazed circles smoldering in his eyes  

The next time I am ready
Happy National Forklift Safety Day
His eyes fume at the floor unsure if I am joking
Hard shuffles one foot over some unseen smudge  

Happy National Bourbon Day
He drags a rough hand across his mouth
I imagine him getting home from work
Uncapping a thirsty bottle
The calendar now an alibi  

Yahoo has proclaimed every sun circle a celebration
And I, pushy dame that I am, push
Happy National Corn on the Cob Day
Happy National Stick Out Your Tongue Day
Happy National Take Your Pants for a Walk Day  

He guffaws at that one
Catches himself and translates it into a rough cough
Still wary, he says, Good one
We have forged a precarious foot path
Laden with shardy missiles, blazing coals, potholes the size of Ganymede
But for now, for a short span of floors
We share this world, this elevator, this primordial wink