I glance up,
out of habit I suppose,
and stare at the stucco:
the white plaster
with its black speckles.
I study it.
Waiting for the sudden epiphany
that ceilings seem to invoke
in other people.
My logic chastises me.
I glance at it again;
at the black speckles
that mar the white paint.
And the stucco answers
with a bump
from the tenant above me.
