The House Next Door

This is the derelict paint-peeling house next door that stands empty


This is the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not,

Past the derelict, paint-peeling house next door that stands empty.


These are my neighbors, dog-pulling, book-reading, friend-greeting

Bustling the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not,

Past the derelict, paint-peeling house next door that stands empty.


Here is the bookhouse where folks stop to look at old thrillers, new cookbooks

Left by my neighbors, dog-pulling, book-reading, friend-greeting

Who bustle the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not,

Past the looming, gloomy house next door that wasn’t always empty.


Here comes my neighbor across the street with the book I returned to her by mistake

But not from the bookhouse where folks stop to look at old mysteries, cookbooks

Left by my neighbors, dog-pulling, book-leaving, friend-waving

Who bustle the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not,

Past the big white house next door, so close to my own, that stands empty.


Out I run in my chilled bare foot to meet her, carrying the book that was actually hers

While she comes to me from across the street holding out the one I returned by mistake

But not from the bookhouse where folks stop to look at all kinds of crumbling books

Left by my neighbors, dog-walking, friend-talking, step-counting

Who bustle the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not,

Past the big white house that crowds my own and stands so very empty.


Over our heads a cold bright sun in a beard of dark clouds on this otherwise blue sky day

Me in my chilled bare feet, chatting there in the street with her, a book in each hand

Because really, neither of us needs these books, we have read and discussed them both

But they’re not quite right for the bookhouse where folks stop to see what is new

Left by my neighbors, dog-pulling, step-counting, friend-talking

Who bustle the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not

Past the derelict, looming white house next to mine, so empty.


All over town, babies born, people going to rest, people living roofless

Under this same cold bright sun in its dark-cloud beard on this otherwise blue sky day

That’s distracting me in my chilled feet facing my neighbor, each of us returning a book 

As we talk about our book group, the sun, the empty house that is just across from hers

While behind me the neighborhood castoff books have a roof, the beach reads and Bibles

Left by my dog-pulling, friend-chatting neighbors and sometimes by strangers in dark cars

Who park by the sidewalk I walk on, cold and hot, leafy or not, 

Past the derelict, paint-peeling house next door that stands empty.


I wish it weren’t empty.


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