Poetry and artwork - Henry Denander

Call The Police

When we moved in to this flat our upstairs
neighbor still had his three teenage kids living
with him, since then the children have moved out
and it’s very quiet.

They had a lot of parties and were sometimes
really loud. The father was on tour in the summer
and every weekend there was a party upstairs.

But we never complained, they were dancing and
singing and for us there was no real problem.
They were always really kind and well behaved –
just young and happy. The father asked me once
if there was a problem when he was away and I
never grumbled, only told him that please if he
could hide that trumpet when he leaves next time.

One evening I went up there to protest but it was
not a party it was the son Calle playing his
electric guitar with the amplifier extremely loud
and his room was right above our bedroom.

One morning I met Calle and his sister in the lift
and we talked about everything but never
mentioned the party they had last weekend.

Suddenly Calle said:

– I can hear you snoring from below, you must be
snoring really loud.

- Yes, perhaps I do, I said.

I realized I have been too kind to them, I should
have been more militant. They have no respect
for me. Next time I will call the police.

Before they do.




Published in I Know What She Will Say, 2003