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The Neighbor

Man stomping over my bed in boots
carrying a large bronze church bell
which you occasionally drop:
gross man with iron heels
who drags coffins to and fro at four in the morning,
who hammers on scaffolding all night long,
who entertains sumo wrestlers and fat acrobats--
I pass you on the steps, we smile and nod.
Rage swells in me like gas.
Now rage too keeps me awake.

Marge Piercy

Read poems about / on: smile, night

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Michael Philips (1/24/2005 2:46:00 PM)
Anyone who has lived in an apartment building and witnessed strange sounds from neighboring flats has got to find this poem hilarious.

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11/20/2008 7:27:21 AM. You Are Here: The Neighbor by Marge Piercy