The room that no one lives in anymore
is like a time capsule.
Posters for shows that have been given revivals
and guides for Dungeons and Dragons
that are an edition and a half behind.
The room that’s lived in
is like a piece of art.
Everything matches
like its all been curated.
Did they just have this stuff
or did it take them years to collect it?
My room at home is just all of the random crap
that I happen to own.
It does have a better bed though
than either of these options.
That’s just an objective fact.

Showers are another thing.
Something’s always off
whether it’s too hot, too cold,
the water pressure is too high,
too low.
Maybe it’s just the thought of that foreign
shower curtain
paired with the fact that
this shower is smaller than mine.
And why is the toilet still making that noise?
It feels wrong that it’s gone on for that long.

Waking up in a house that isn’t yours
is always weird.
Is anyone else awake?
Which floorboards creek?
I really need to pee
but the neverending droll of the toilet
is sure to wake everyone up.
Finally I get dressed out of a bag
and find a window with a view.
The scenery is beautiful
out there.
Even with all of the rain.
It’s quiet enough to actually hear
all of the wildlife.
Secluded enough to actually
maybe potentially
even see some of it.
I do like being here.
In small doses.
Weird.
That’s what staying in a house
that isn’t yours is.