Neighbour (sample poem)

“He was charming
suits always well pressed,
not a hair out of place nor a hint of stubble.
A handsome man whatever way you looked at him.
He told me I had eyes as gray
as the Aral Sea in winter
and he’d bet, rightly if I may add,
that I had many gentlemen admirers in my time.
He’d talk to my husband about the Dodgers recent dip in form
and what did they expect with that coach?
We didn’t know he had a basement.

He’d stand out on his backporch,
burning leaves in the garden,
smoking and staring up at the moon.
He’d wave back when waved to.
He even offered to keep an eye on the kids
should we ever fancy a weekend away
and couldn’t apologise enough for loans
of golf clubs, corkscrews, power tools.
Occasionally at night noise drifted over
sometimes he’d be entertaining young ladies,
and frankly who could blame them?
Sometimes there’d be the muffled sounds
of the television, the blue light under the door
sometimes there’d be the sound of drilling for hours on end.
My husband, obliging old fool that he is,
called to him as he was collecting his mail
and offered to help him with his DIY.
“I’m not building as such,”
he laughed
“Thanks all the same.”

Only once did we have any bother:
Bout a year ago
a young lady banging at the door
in the early hours, a disgraceful state,
reeking of drink, so inebriated she couldn’t seem to speak,
swaying and clutching.
He was already on his way across and ushered her away,
“Please accept my apologies,
Some people have no manners.”
“Don’t worry about it,” we reassured.
And we didn’t.
The next day he called over all apologies
and spent the day dredging the leaves from our pool.
We never imagined…”
“Now here’s Tom with the weather.”

Copyright Darran Anderson 2005