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.

by Marge Piercy

Comments (2)

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!
Anyone who has lived in an apartment building and witnessed strange sounds from neighboring flats has got to find this poem hilarious.