very nice, concrete poem. There seems to be a light sense of comedy in poem, but I had a hard time with the tag “Wifey”; it kind of jolted me out of the poem so I thought it broke the slight undertone of irony, comedy of the rest of the poem and made it more obvious, which may lessen the drama of the poem instilled in other verses. Of course then using the cliche term “wife” would be worse, so…I don’t know. Great poem though.
He trimmed their hedges
And they watered his curiosity,
With an ear trumpet,
Like an old Victrola needle listening
To a seventy-eight rpm record,
Scratching scratching for a sound.
Blemish on a character,
A sin, an outlandish scrutinizing
Of neighbor’s conversations.
Do not think they don’t notice—
Five o’clock in a morn, or twilight,
And lip reading when a window’s closed,
He beckons words with eyes cocked,
Chip on a shoulder when a shade’s down.
Then he’ll call with a church smile,
Flicking kindness over a bramble—
Just to make sure he’s considered a nice neighbor;
More a hypocrite dodging silence,
Boggling some sort of apology.
The yowl, the maddening,
His arms crossed like a two year old;
A figure spreading himself thin, like butter
Parading itself on moldy bread.
Stone face of a man murmuring utterances
Under his breath, white smoke
Circling over his head;
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