It is always the mind I know well, 
not the body, which sits in shadow half 
the time. Sometimes I feel good, 
like when a neighbor says you keep 
the pace of a teenager. I wish, I think. 
I think, yeah, a fat, slow teenager, 
but really I am thrilled. 
Another neighbor pulls up beside me
in his car. Hey, he says, rolling down 
the window, you look strong. 
Would you give me a hand?
Sure I say and hop in, only too happy 
to carry the neatly rolled rug into his house.
Later he invites me to play poker, to play golf. 
I say I know I’m a terrible disappointment,
but I don’t play poker, I don’t play golf. 
What do you do? he asks. I read, I say. 
Good, he says, you can read my book, 
and he invites me over for a drink. 
Unless you don’t drink? Oh, I drink, I tell him. 
Turns out he knew my wife’s cousin Billy, 
who practiced law in Florida and rooted 
for the local college football team. 
I’m a liti-Gator he’d say. 
Neither of us calls him a tool, because, 
well, he’s dead now, and besides, one bad pun 
does not disqualify a person from humanity. 
At least I hope not. 
As the fool who was pardoned on the gallows said, 
no noose is good noose. And that poor bastard hanged.
                        

Everyone lies, that’s the blessed truth.
How can you not know this?
Your neighbor throws seeds out for the birds, 
but they circle warily in the blackening sky.

Soon there is lighting and thunder and rain.
Not long after, the power goes out.
You call, but the recording offers no comfort. 
It may be dark for hours, so you light candles.

Luckily the lantern you bought still works,
The birds have vanished like ghosts.
Now what will you eat tonight?  
No leftovers, the stove won’t work. 

You’re out of cheese, so it’s tuna from the can, 
tepid water from the tap.Your neighbor raps 
on your door with her knuckles and an empty cup.
You gesture with your hand, invite her in to share the feast.