Limited Contacts


I hardly ever thought of those
Who lived across the street from my backyard
as neighbors;
Some of whom I only waved to
When pulling out my car
In a rush to get away;
Often paying them no mind at all
Unable to remember them by name;
While thinking how they kept me up
On steamy summer evenings
When it seemed their conversations
Were much louder than they should have been -
Echoing through my bedroom window
As if they never slept at all
With some purposeful intention to undermine my sleep...
And on those breezy mornings
When I could have slept a little longer
They took to mowing their front lawn
Or banging this or that
In what seemed to be a relentless effort
To wake me up
As if they didn't care at all
What I thought of those
Who lived across the street
From my backyard.

Ken Siegelman
Brooklyn Poet Laureate