sick day
Across the street small men in brightly colored hats
put finishing touches on a block of modern flats
too costly for a move, too drab, too pointedly
brand new to be moved into anyway, the free
espresso for potential future tenants not
withstanding. Absentee developers have caught
themselves in their own snare of advertising: Close
To Everything—just not quite something on its own.
But young urban professionals will bring enough
of their own character to bear, will pile stuff
against thin particle board walls to insulate
their quiet lives from neighbors and the clubhouse, race
to call the elevator for themselves alone,
that this five-story glass and sheer fascade will show
itself not flat and lifeless, not a concrete pall,
but suitable for any kind of life at all.