The Neighbors

by Liz Ahl

The ones you never see.

The ones you always see.

The drunk one who stumbles

up onto your porch
to triangulate his walkie-talkie.

The nosy ones.

The slovenly ones.

The ones who are beautiful.

The muzzled dog that barks

anyway, each time you park
or open your door or sneeze loudly.

The ones who speak no English.

The ones who speak only English.
The ones who don’t speak.

The ones who listen.

The kid, the one who steals

lawn ornaments you never liked anyhow.

The shady one, or the one

with shady friends.

The quiet one.

The hooligan.

The one whose window is always blue

and flickering with TV light.

The ones whose windows

are never open.

The dead ones.

The ones who play guitar.

The yelling guy.

The dancing girls.

The naked one.

The ones who go to church

in the windowless white building
on the corner.

The one who hates you.

The one on public access.

The ones who have

two testy Siamese cats.

The mean one.

The scary ones.

The sweet one.

The one who dreamt

last night of you
but who will never say.

The one you dreamt about.

Those who smoke summer evenings

on porches facing yours.

Those who ride bikes.

Those who fly flags.
Those who do Halloween,
candy, decorations, all of it.

The ones you wonder about.

The ones who know your name

and the ones who don’t,
who have barbecues.

The ones who wonder about you.