The Kitchenette Building.

We are things of dry hours, and the involuntary plan
Grayed in and gray. "Dream" makes a giddy song, not strong
Like "rent",  "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man".

But could a dream  send up through onion fumes,
It's white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterdays garbage ripening in the hall
Flutter or sing an aria down these rooms.

Even if we were willing to let it in
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean
Anticipate a message, let it begin?

We wonder. But not well! not for a minute!
Since number five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water and hope to get in it.

Gwendolyn Brooks.