Our walls so thin, we followed
the lives of our neighbors. Now
our house is quiet.
We have nothing to live in.


This poem is dedicated to anyone who has ever shared a wall with another couple. In college, this means listening to the moans of other students having sex, as you lay alone on the top of a bunk bed in the next room. If you live in a college town, like my wife and I do, this means trying to sleep through the undergraduates next door who love to play Dance Dance Revolution at 2:30 on Tuesday nights. Whatever the situation, at first, you joke about the couple that is always fighting or the man who sings off-key in the shower. Eventually, though, the realization sets in: if we can hear them, they can hear us. And next: if they can hear us, what must they be thinking?


Casey Thayer holds an MFA from Northern Michigan University and has poems forthcoming in The Journal, Poetry, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. He teaches English at the University of Wisconsin-Rock County.

'Twilight Field', Gabriel Fried

'The Kiss', Heather Cousins

'Street Flowers', Andrew Nurkin