The Neighbor by Marge Piercy

Man stomping over my bed in boots
carrying a large bronze church bell
which you occasionally drop:
gross man with iron heels
who drags coffins to and fro at four in the morning,
who hammers on scaffolding all night long,
who entertains sumo wrestlers and fat acrobats--
I pass you on the steps, we smile and nod.
Rage swells in me like gas.
Now rage too keeps me awake.

by Marge Piercy

Other poems by 'Marge Piercy'

To the Pay Toilet

Traveling Dream

For the Young Who Want To

The Seven Of Pentacles

Belly Good

Always Unsuitable

Winter Promises

The Morning Half-Life Blues

Implications of One Plus One

Attack of the Squash People

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