it's hard to tell

they're gone now,

they've moved,

the neighbor next door.

but he didn't say

much in the years

we lived next to one another.

i'd see him going to work

in the morning,

lunch pail

in hand.

overalls and hat,

out to his truck.

sometimes he'd kiss his

wife

goodbye,

on the stoop.

we rarely talked,

but he seemed like a good

guy. the grill out

back,

the dog,

the country music

down low.

the flag decal

on his window.

the gun rack.

he kept to himself,

polite

and quiet.

a hard worker,

a good man. sometimes

i'd hear him

chopping wood

out back.

was he happy? who knows,

like with all of us,

it's hard

to tell.