the good neighbor

you had an apartment
once in a bad
part of town.
a ground floor
unit where you had
to keep a bar
in every window,
every door.
the open stairways
were never swept
or scrubbed,
and the dust
and debris was
part of it. but
you had a neighbor
who stole your
morning paper
every morning,
your milk,
your bread, your
eggs, back when
these things
were delivered.
you asked him about
it once or twice
and he shook his
head and laughed,
so did his wife.
finally you ordered
him everything
that you were
getting and he
had no need to
steal anymore. he
was a good neighbor
after that. but you
soon moved. sometimes
even now, when
the wind blows
a certain way you
can hear the cold
rush of it up that
stairwell.