YOU AND YOUR NEIGHBORS

There was that one funny time you caught your fucking neighbors.
They were new, friendly too. They’d just bought, your fucking neighbors.

The glories of their ripening garden, their Conestogas’
double garage. For a time, you sought your fucking neighbors.

Neighbors are worse than you, especially when better. Duh
hey. Sigmund Freud could practically snort your fucking neighbors.

Your momma said if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t.
But the reflections at night distort your fucking neighbors.

Cat wranglers. Boob tube tools. Salesmen of siding, mutual funds,
mortgages. Perhaps you could export your fucking neighbors.

Fornicating drunks issue offspring that will grow to drink
and fornicate. You’d like to abort your fucking neighbors.

After rains, hairline cracks bud in concrete retaining walls.
Queasy driveway rifts, rents, chinks, athwart your fucking neighbors.

They say it’s just about rules and regs. Color’s not really
the bone of contention. So purport your fucking neighbors.

Third parties mean well on the path to hell. They tell you, It’s
not worth it, just let it go. So ought your fucking neighbors.

The lights are on, but nobody’s home. A carbon footprint
size of Sasquatch. They’re an afterthought, your fucking neighbors.