Marla’s Studio Apartment

Marla was a lovely L.A. girl

She was a bit crazy

But lovely, nonetheless

She lived behind a mansion

Off Doheny, in Beverly Hills

In a garage, converted into a shit studio apartment

She tried to make it nice

But a garage, is always going to be a garage

Marla liked to tell people she ran a jewelry business

What she was really saying

Is that she sold necklaces, that she made

Off a blanket, on the boardwalk, in Venice

I guess she must have done alright

She kept up the rent on her garage, studio

But she never turned down free drinks I offered

And late nights in the garage

Were often filled

With questions

About how she was going to pay the rent

It was the perfect match

Marla, the little bit crazy girl

And her crazy living arrangement

In her Beverly Hills garage studio apartment

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


The Note

She rose early

Packed a small bag of belongings

And a snack for the road

She crept around the apartment

Moving soundlessly, like a mouse

She found a pen

And a scrap piece of paper

Sat on the couch

And wrote out her plan

Her reasons

Her thoughts, on all the mistakes

She wrote of her fond memories

And all the good times

When she finished, she looked it over

Then looked to the clock

Time was a factor

And the time was now

She rose up, picked up the note

And walked to the kitchen

She put coffee in the maker

Filled it with water, turned it on

She neatly placed the note under an empty, waiting cup

Then she turned

And headed for the door

She bent down and picked up her bag

And took one more look around

She loved this apartment

So many memories

So many good times

But those were long ago

Things can change

This can go south

So she closed her eyes

She took a deep breath

And softly placed the apartment keys on the table

She exhaled, opened her eyes, turned and left

The door behind her

Locked forever

She got in her car

Started the engine

Backed out of the drive

And headed towards the rising sun

She thought about how he would soon wake

To the smell and sounds of the coffeemaker

He would call her name

He would call again

But this time, there wouldn’t be an answer

She pictured him reading the note

And a tear ran down her cheek

As she continued towards the rising sun

© Dicky J Loweman 2015