though you hide in cars that pass me by
no acknowledgement to my waving hand.
Your garage door opens, automatically,
closes before you get out of your car,
before I can see you and know who you are.
I wonder if it’s because we are older now,
no children to get to know you through,or if this is the Twilight Neighborhoods of today
where no one knows, no one speaks, no one
sees the other. How do they get their mail?
I feel like a ghost walking a tiny dog
down the empty, quiet streets, my head tilted at the houses for signs of life. My lips
form the word, I whisper.. then shout, Boo!
6 comments:
Great poem. Love this bit:
'I feel like a ghost walking a tiny dog
down the empty, quiet streets, my head
tilted at the houses for signs of life. '
Love your little zinger, Judy. Pretty soon there might not be mail delivery either!
Sad and funny all at the same time Judy. I recognize the feeling. penny
I think this is the way it is in so many neighborhoods today, Judy. Quite different from the neighborhod I grew up in where we knew neighbors and acknowledged them for blocks around!
What a sad sounding neighborhood though I imagine many could feel that way about any neighborhood really unless people actually spent time in their front yards. Perhaps they should require a front yard flower beds that residents worked on.
You tell it all so well, Judy, the end of neighborliness. The end of connection, and you end it, "Boo!" LOL, perfectly. Another brilliant poem.
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