My housemate
the one on the first floor
next to the kitchen
and the small bathroom
where we congregate
with great frequency
– Eloise –
has not slept with me.

This thought occurred to me
when we interviewed her
for the spot
much as I considered
Carmen, Sharona and Mel
when I moved in.
They, of course,
all fell like face cards
or left the building
in quick succession.

Eloise however
remains unappreciated
despite my offers of backrubs
or complaints of the plight of the Panamanian
or readings from my secret poetical stash.

She does not know what she’s missing
and I fear
if she doesn’t act soon
she will continue
to not know what she’s missing.
This fear plagues me.

To be fair,
Alastair in the attic
has also not given up the goods
but I’m OK with that
so far.