My Neighbor George

A headless oak that looks monstrous

It's spindly limbs exposed through the fog

A line of muddy cows gather

Atop the shoulders of work worn hilltops

The flesh of the earth

And soon there will be no more hills

My neighbor George had a face like an overdriven mule

One strap blue and white stripped overalls

He meandered out that cracked screen door dragging a smoke

The kind that stains your tongue

Smelling the rain

On a good sunny day

Still in the dreary season

But tiptoeing to spring

I joined him for there was no one else

Not enough land between the either of us

"We like it when things are hidden from us"

I stared at him and thought I agreed

Words can be slippery

I only had windows into George's life

We shared views of each other's kitchen sinks

He was always bent over cutting celery and apples 

I swept the porch overtaken by briar thorns and baskets of mulberries

The kind that stains your tongue

There's something so joyful about being hidden

At least I thought so when i moved here

George didn't share much

He half-heartedly rounded his thoughts as they tumbled out

His jaw would drop and hang on certain words

Can this be my way?

Settling down inside yourself 

Like a proof of life

"Are you a head or a heart person?" 

There's something to be said for voices quiet, gentle, and meaningless 

That we can settle

I can't go home anymore

Hate is a wonderful motivator, it doesn't discriminate

It'll take everything you spent your whole life practicing 

But what does that leave you with?

I think George enjoys my company

As we pass half a cigarette he offers

"You know you aren't ugly, you look just like you"