my next-door neighbor mows his lawn early on sunday morning.
the gasoline engine of his mower is loud. he sees me,
smiles, waves and shouts a cheerful hi!
he survived the state pen, and since his release he’s been happy as a fresh-fed pup.
my next-doors on the other side scream their fucking-fuck-fuck-fucked
at every hour, night and day, day and night, all week long, month after month,
for sale sign newly-raised in the dirt of their easement.
this sunday morning, they have left off the copulation talk for the duration
of their breakfast. a pebble thrown by the mower’s blades
clangs the sign, ricochets in my direction,
skipping to rest at my feet where i wash my car by the curb.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)