The story is so old she doesn’t listen
any more but absently agrees
with thoughtful murmurs: yes, we do indeed
waste and eat too much. The distances
we drive! The climate is a-changin’. Poor
bees. But Earth is not a sexy lady.
Hugging trees is out of fashion—Somebody
got shot! There! Detained!—more
satisfying to engage in people-
things. It might be nice to have a warmer
climate. I march for peace. I know the farmer
over there is spraying. He’s entitled
to his own ideas. I have to go.
Thanks for sharing. And she shuts her door.
DIANE LEE MOOMEY has lived and wandered around the US and Canada, and now dips her gardener’s hands in California dirt. A regular reader at San Francisco Bay Area poetry venues, Diane has published prose and poetry, most recently in Mezzo Cammin, The Sand Hill Review, California Poetry Quarterly, Caesura, and Red Wheelbarrow, and has been nominated for a Pushcart prize. In 2016, 2017 and 2018, she won prizes and Honorable Mentions in the Sonnet and Creative Non-Fiction categories of the Soul Making Keats Literary Contest. Her most recent poetry book is Nothing But Itself. To know more, please visit the Poets & Writers Directory. Diane is also a watercolorist and collage artist, an experience that both seeds and is seeded by, her poetic imagery. To view her artwork, please visit DianeLeeMoomeyArt. Author’s note: “Next-Door” is about the heart-breaking side of community: how does one live in close proximity with those who appear to be part of the problem? Is there a whistle to blow, and what happens when one blows it in one’s own neighborhood? Is it better to ignore the issues and make nice? This poem does not refer to my own next-door neighbor! or to any single event, but is a conflation of many personal as well as overheard conversations.
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