You’re there in that corner again,
peering through the chain link fence
that separates my house of hardship
from your perfect lawn.
Mown by professionals no less,
not one ounce of sweat from your brow,
no, too much effort to attempt on your own.
Sitting in that corner smoking your cigarette
and throwing your dirty looks of contempt
while the noise of life interrupts your paper-reading.
I can actually feel your vile thoughts as you sit
viewing this life like a cat ready to pounce
and scatter my chirping birds,
forcing their cover from your anger.
Here in my corner, I can hear you yell
of madness toward your poor, plump, silent wife.
How she stands you, I’ll never know.
Hear me now, though, neighbor.
Take your intolerance for that which you do not
understand, and never had fortune to know,
toss it in your perfect grass salad and eat…
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