Sunday, March 14, 2010


I'm really trying to find my happy Mr. Rogers space, but lately my neighbors just bug me.


A giant mountain
of trash lines the alley way
by Saturday morn.


Nose is assaulted
from the wreaking stench downstairs:
I hate your cooking!


Laundry dragged downstairs
for naught because YOU have hogged
all of the machines!


Lobby scream echoes:
Your child is heard on all floors.
Wish I could slap you.



whitney said...

Can I talk to you?
I am met with your swearing.
Why are you yelling?

Leave your shed on mine,
My property becomes yours.
Big Jerk too angry to hear!

You speed down the lane,
on purpose, flashing the bird.
Twice! And Rosey sees.

It is a dead end.
And it is dirt and narrow.
Spinning your tires.

How old are you now?
What? You are at least 50?
And you are a nurse?

Such an angry man.
Too bad life is passing you.
Angry all the time.

Hope I never land
In the hospital with you
As my nurse. What a nightmare!

whitney said...

Not "What a nightmare." I meant, "Scary!"

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