CHRISTMAS EVE NEXT DOOR
Next door is a house painted peach,
roofed with thick white tiles, its mature
shrubbery pruned horribly precise.
The rumor is Eileen was the first woman
poor Larry ever slept with. For thirty years
the two of them have kept to themselves,
now they understand why no one bothered
to butt in, and suddenly begin to argue.
Eileen sits alone in her room, maybe drunk,
maybe nuts, even she can’t tell. She screams
once, then says nothing for days. Late
on Christmas Eve, she emerges in her
quilted satin robe, only to assault the visiting
cars parked out front on her swale, pulling
antennas off, gouging paint with a screwdriver,
vicious, more vicious than she ever imagined
she could be. Her high, shrill voice pierces
the hushed air. Summoned peace officers
shrug their burly shoulders and offer Larry
boxes of soft, greasy pastries. He feels almost
relieved when they finally take her
into custody, though he hates
to think of her in the same holding cell
with a bunch of sleazy streetwalkers.
One response to “Christmas Eve Next Door, a poem”
This did not help me get in the holiday spirit, but its a powerful piece.