We plan to get rid of our noisy neighbors with elaborate schemes
involving dinner parties and poison, Trojan horses and noisy sex.
In the end, we just head off to bed, put the pillows over our heads
wait for morning.
In the back yard, I nod my hellos, mention the party from the night before
mention we’re thinking of having a party of our own.
Maybe we could throw a party together, the neighbor suggests, begins making plans
for some awful thing with people and nonpoisonous food
something to bond the neighborhood together
because people never try to know their neighbors anymore. She
says she knows a band that could play, something fun and young
perfect for a block party.
I tell my husband about the neighbor and her plans
suggest we build a bomb, something big and noisy
that would take out her whole house, or maybe convince an airplane
to land on her roof. There is no place left for us to hide
from the congenialities of strangers, the rumble of lawnmowers and spy drones.
They have built their houses right up against our front door
as if to make sure they see us every time we try to leave.
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, New Ohio Review, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry collections are A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I’m in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.) and The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press).