The woman who lives in IKEA

I only come out when you’ve gone,

smoothing down the bed spreads,

wiping fingerprints off the glass table tops.

At noon, I saw your child (you didn’t see me)

lying on the bed with his shoes on,

while a man neither of us know

sat forward in the easy chair

his eyes fixed straight ahead of him.

Yes, tell your daughter, the phone is glued to the table,

I always know where it is that way and it doesn’t work,

like most things in this world, it’s just for show.

A few years ago, I lived in the studio apartment

with the loft bed and the desk, the balcony

laid out with outdoor decking and a table for one.

Lately, I’ve been feeling pretty serious,

I’ve upgraded to a three-seat couch,

the kitchen even has its own room

and the bathroom is behind the sliding door.

Nothing works, except the layout.

You know I’m thinking of moving on again pretty soon.

The next apartment has a nursery.

There’s a time in everybody’s life

when you have to think what’s next?
Where am I going with my life?