Marge Piercy

(March 31, 1936 / Detroit, Michigan)

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.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Colleen Courtney (5/18/2014 7:08:00 PM)

    This piece gave a chuckle as just this afternoon I was laughing and shaking my head over my freaky weird neighbor across the street. Timing is everything sometimes! (Report) Reply

  • 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. (Report) Reply

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