the neighbor with his
garden hose
spraying the patio.
his broom,
his vacuum out
and loud.
he's rounding
up fallen branches
and leaves.
it saddens me with
guilt
as i sit and read,
my feet up on the chair
a cup of hot tea
within reach.
i look at my yard,
my stone slab,
green with moss,
my hedges, no longer
shaped,
but full of thickets,
thorns. lost.
the weeds waist high.
a mix of grass
and what seems to be
sea oats, though i'm
far from
any ocean.
i turn the next page
of the book i'm reading.
i'm quickly
over it.
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