Memory/list poem

A typical college town house. Really. We always walk in and joke “it smells like a frat”,
but it really, disgustingly does. On weekend nights it is turned into crowded screaming loud square footage, blaring music, with beer pong tables, and beer bongs. Weekend days it is turned into a couch potato paradise, with sunshine shining, trying to come in the window that we have closed so not to blind us. Besides the repulsive sight of used cups, beer cans and blood everywhere from the typical fight club scene, that makes it look like a murderer once lived here, it is a hermits paradise. Monday comes, during the week, it is a gathering room, a room of peace from the outside world, where all the roommates have a chance to sit down after a long day of stressful classes, drama with the significant other, and just talk and relax with each other, planning our next big event for the weekend. The room is filled with people coming and going, laughter from events that happened over the weekend, and sometimes tension, people yelling. The big never-used fireplace, expensive picture frames and big screen tv, makes the somewhat spacious room look somewhat liveable and homey, but the coaches that thousands of friends have slept on, probably caked with puke or god-knows-what ruins the room. If video taped throughout a typical day, it would look like a bees nest, everyone coming and going, maybe stopping to talk, or yell up the stairs, and then settling down together at night.