615 Monroe

You Can Still Hear Old Frank Whispering
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We used to live in an apartment down the street,
five and a half blocks away, near Sinatra's old place.

It was the 18th place to house my stuff
but it was the first home I'd lived in since Ash Street.

Each square foot was packed with happiness, for a
total of 471 (which included him and me).

We were the first to sit in the living room,
eating from TV trays, lit in the light of the Empire State.

Climbing four flights of stairs with grocery laden arms
wasn't glamorous. Nor were the Guitar Heroes next door.

We found our new home while there in our old
and soon my life was packed and carried back down.

And tonight when I'm full of chat but not awake.
I'll ask him if he remembers the bed that was so high,

and he'll assure me its the one we're in.