JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Listen, she yells

why don’t you listen?

I look out of my window, she’s on the phone

all two hundred sixty pounds of her

strutting, waddling between pot plants

husband who could be her twin except

he’s naked  waist up, leans out of upstairs window

binoculars in hand.  Son arrives in a clapped-out GMC

exhaust backfiring, tires squealing, it’s marked

Private Ambulance.  Daughter scarlet skirted rushes

up steps past clanging gate to greet two yapping pinschers

setting off all the canines in the block who join in

with assorted growls and yelps

 

It’s their way of communicating

each trying to drown out the others

sometimes they’re not even yelling about

the same subjects, doors bang, lights go on

and off and on again

 

Quiet as rabbits neighbors go about their lives

behind closed windows and shutters, perhaps deaf

perhaps praying for relief, perhaps wishing for the family

at number 3 to get into their private ambulance, drive down

the hill and self destruct

 

Only the dogs seem to enjoy it

they’re barking up a storm.  For them it’s like kickboxing

some cheering the title holder, some the challenger