Thursday, November 17, 2016

Trying to understand my neighbor.
I can’t. She is super weird, like Babar.

Me, on the other hand, I am normal.
I wear blue jeans and a sweater. Nothing formal.

I check sports scores on my phone.
She, however, sits eating peanuts alone

looking across the yard at me.
Well what is she expecting to see?

Fine so I don’t have much of a social life.
At least I don’t wander around with a knife

whispering the names of neighborhood children
like some sort of incantation.

At least I don’t wear a chandelier on my head
and answer the phone “Is this Fred?”

every time. Like, yes, that is my name,
but why does she answer everyone the same?

Her back yard resembles a dump,
and I’m guessing she even voted for Trump.

I’ll never be able to sell this place
with her walking around with that look on her face

carrying a sleeping bag full of slippers
and penguin flippers.

Plus, she’s never willing to lend me milk.
So tired of her and her ilk.

• • •

2 Responses to “Frustration”

  1. Holy Cow Says:

    Another great portrait of Mrs. Wilding

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