There
is something that bothers my neighbor
That
irritates her, makes her skin crewel
That
creates a humming stammer in her voice
And
even makes gaps, silent ones as she talks
To
my wife about the heap of trash across the street
Her
kind of row is another thing indeed
Where
she doesn’t let one idea stand too long,
Without
her spinning it dry…
Not
even one minute’s rest, lest she lose her focus
Be
tongue-tied, and God forbid that!
We
are talking about last week’s branches,
Which
is what is lying on top of the heap, kind of —
To
please my neighbor—referring to my branches,
I’d
have to get rid of the pile of rubbish too
The
one, everyone tosses garbage underneath
On
top of, stretching it out down the street some!
My
wife let my neighbor know what I said:
That
her dogs urinate, leave their seepage and dung
All
over our lawn, sidewalk, and steps—
We
have to wash and clean them daily!
All
around the park across the street too
Even
on the arc light poles, and on top of the heap—!
The
one with my branches on, that her eyes are on.
Oh,
she watches her five dogs all right, when you’re looking.
To
each this burden now has fallen, for me it is the branches:
We
have to use nice words to keep the balance:
“The
neighbor up the block has a junk car,” my
Wife
complains to her on that, she has nothing to say.
Oh,
just another kind of neighborly game for sure:
One
to each his own, it adds up to little more.
She
is all for the neighbor’s heap, but not my branches
Those
branches lay upon the heap, and for her
Messy
dogs — ‘well,’ she says ‘that’s another story!’
She
will never understand my branches,
Nor
I, her dogs, and the neighbors heap across the street
Nor
the car that has sat vacant for seven years!
Are
we not all responsible for its parting?
If
I could put an idea in her head
“Should
we not all work this out together to rid one whole
Neighborhood
of branches, messy dogs, heaps of dirt?
Loafing
cars: making for a clean and better neighborhood?”
She
says nothing to this, the issue remains: my branches.
Before
I hired the branch cuter, I asked him:
“Please
take the branches with you, when done!”
As
you can well guess, he never did.
He
also is a neighbor who lives nearby, and I sure you
He
has his little heap outside on the street, too.
Something
irritates my neighbor about me—
Maybe
because I’m an American, who’s to say?
She
won’t ever tell me, not the truth anyhow.
My
wife and I, whom she gives offence to,
She
moves with slyness it seems
Like
a Jack in the Box, she pops up and out!
Not
of concern over those dry old branches
Or
neither the heap, nor her dogs messes:
Then
what I ask myself, ‘What is it?’
She
takes my inventory, not her own, nor her
Neighbors,
just mine alone…!
Perhaps
if she had more to do in her life
She’d
not be so busy, trying to take care of mine!
#1314 (From a morning dream came Branches 4/14/06)) Written while living
in Lima, Peru)) Reedited for publication November, 2012
