The Harpy Upstairs

The high pitched shrill, the clog of feet
Signs of neighbours home
Try as I might, I just can’t write
For bristling at her tone
She squeaks and screams just like a child
That’s tickled constantly
The nasal sound, heard through the ground
Instills a chill in me
I cringe to hear her loud fake laugh
The shrieking makes me growl
I wonder if she’d carry on
If she could see my scowl