My neighbor I don’t
Know him, except he
Grins and hellos us
On our way to school.

My neighbor he parks
Beater cars in the
Road, rims resting
On blacktop.

My neighbor wears
Dark hoodies, and has scruff
On his face. If he has a wife,
I’ve never seen her.

My neighbor I don’t
Know him, except this
Long rail fence we pass by
Which, I notice,

He repairs
For the sake of, it seems,
The beautifully organized
Orange coneflowers

That lean on the rails
Come September,
And clingy
Morning glories which

The kids marvel at–
How different they can
Be from evening to day.


This post is from my poetry series for January, “What Details Know” — daily small stones and photos, as part of The River of Stones.

Read more small stones on Twitter at the #smallstone hashtag.