Neighbors

Neighbors just like needles

are wheedling their way

through our patch-work

of sleep...

...I never got no say...

to set the records straight...

...my thoughts now swerve into 

the static psych of day...

Mama Jones waves towards 

the yawning porch!...

...She points to where 

the hammock's 

been abandoned,

and my mind becomes

a canyon

of dislocated sights,

and broken glass night

shocks...

Though we think it

still ...A good idea

maybe for some

other year,

we will peel like potatoes

from the cut of each 

misdirected jeer

that flies across our lawn.

Neighbors like needles

wheedle in and out 

of our daily affairs

like old news reels...

Twilight confides in

our insecurities... like

coins dropping in the 

jukebox of tomorrow.

The owl in the tree

next door... blinks against

the pins and needles

of the seven pointed stars...

Neighbors sink like needles

in the eyes of 

passersby... wheeling

as a meter does,

they never seem to fly from 

their stiffly framed positions.

Ticking off the moments

till the alarm clock explodes

to pieces of our wee hours 

of precious fleeting sleep...

I am drawn to the glow

of the street-light

like an insect...

...lines intersect and neighbors

lose their fearsome bite,

but almost overnight

they quickly return to make a

pact with

all we claim to hold so dear...

...they build with fear,

like billowing sails, and

crush spent wind 

right out our

swiftly suckered lungs...

...they are so fun.

©

6/18/19

Bunny Villaire &

Mavia Hankala