Neighbors

Two makes a couple.
She was a couple before.
This is her second try.
But this time is no easier.
He is kind. Sweet.
But uninvolved.
Indifferent.
And she is raising a couple.
Her daughter has made her
a grandparent.
Their house is painted with
a facade of optimism.
But within lies a family divided,
In despair.
Dissonance.


Two makes a couple.
She, with two jobs,
aching for retirement
--distant but in sight.
He, waning quickly with age.  
Parkinson's.
But the nights are peaceful for them.
Their home is not cold.
They meet their challenges with patience.
Perseverance.


Two makes a couple.
Young grandparents.
Two lawn chairs resting on the drive.
Ah, with levity. With mirth,
They observe the world's hustle and bustle.
They watch it with pleasure,
Reveling in it's simplicity.
And anticipating the grandchildren that reside across the street.
For them, neighbor and family are one.
As it should perhaps always be.
Harmony.


Two makes a couple.
A lifetime has gone by.
But they are still newlyweds.
Senescence wears hard.
Unhurried are the days.
They are quiet.
Tranquil.
An ambulance comes.
No breath escapes her lungs.
She suffocates in wait.
But softly come sweet words to her ears.
Not yet, she says. Not yet.
And soon they are two again.
Unified.

This poem all started with one photo.
The house across the street.
For some reason seeing it made me want to write about the people on my street.
It's a very bittersweet poem to me.