why are they bothering me

the neighbor, an older 

gentleman

who i've seen once or

twice throwing a frisbee

to some kid,

bangs on my door at four in

the afternoon.

my first instinct

is to not answer it, to duck

down and crawl

back to the couch.

but i'm in the kitchen

standing at the sink

having dinner,

a peanut butter and jelly

sandwich on rye,

the only bread i could find.

i'm in my underwear,

but i think, too bad,

that's his problem

to deal with it.

i open the door, jelly on

my favorite white t-shirt,

and say, what up?

he asks me if my toilet

is backed up, if the plumbing

is draining out

water in the basement.

i tell him no

and advise him to call

a plumber.

he says. i did. so i say, okay.

anything else.

he looks at me and says no,

but perhaps

you should put some pants

on when you answer the door.

i'll think about it, i tell him,

as i take another bite 

of my sandwich.