Pigeons and airplanes,
perhaps?
What is that loud hum above?

In the apartment over me
     could it be
a slide master?
Madame flagrante delicto
     washing the floors?
Rolling dough?
Practicing bowling?

The rhythmic coo of pigeons
     confused me;
their sound carried down
the vent from the roof.
All night it continued,
     but I thought,
“No one could make love
     that long!”

“This ain’t no po’ man’s paradise;
….ain’t no Palm Springs!”