awoke to find
his bed in the middle
of the street.
An appropriately formal
letter pinned to his head
said he'd been evicted.
Suddenly he saw
some problems with sleeping
in the nude.
Fashioning a toga
from a tired bedsheet,
he recalled a party
to which he'd once worn
something similar
under his clothes.
The night had taken
an awkward turn
when he forgot to remove
a layer and went home
with a psychology major.
James could not explain
his choice of underwear.
He hoped his landlord
would show more sympathy.
A relief, then,
that the man
answered his door in attire
revealing a proclivity
for roman trash culture.
James got his room back
at a discounted rate.
In it he discovered
a vat of grapes
and a rack of new garments,
and he never slept
naked again.
-the ambassador
