We've dwelt next door since year '11.
"1086 & '87"
should've been the name of a sitcom
about how unlikely human bonds
are smelted and tailored in heaven.

I see curled lips and plenty raised brows
of those vexed by, in '25, how
the elderly white man can sit
on the porch, with the black man in mitts,
peacefully charring succulent sow.

Although, many times, he's been shady,
doxing my each failure with ladies,
when ones suddenly stopped coming by.
When he trolls, I knew the reason why--
he wants my life to be the Bradys.

Endless mischief vowed for each other,
like siblings do to younger brothers,
were fronts for how much we truly cared
even though no depths of petty were spared.
Of course, 4 years would leak our druthers.  

He's seen every heartbreak to my name.
We broke bread when addiction maimed.
He was my "white" noise, so to speak;
each other's secrets we could have leaked.
I still sleep best knowing he's maintained.

On the other sides, countless have come,
each a part of a glorious sum--
in their idiosyncratic way,
like characters cast for a play.
They sustained brotherhood's kingdom.

I'm blessed by tales of the old and young--
from cultured, humbled, and gritty tongues.
From painters, bankers, musicians
to nurses, cooks, and magicians,
I'm part the song they've all wrote and sung. 

And, if such is true, he's the chorus.
He's Haltom's last Stegosaurus.
He's the old and steady comrade,
whether the home team's good or bad.
I guess this hare needed a tortoise.

From the Soul,

 

📕“Thy Neighbor (Poem)” is a piece from my upcoming published anthology, “Return from the Pale Trail: Gifts to Humanity We’ve Been Taught to Forget.” I’m ecstatic to share this wonderful piece of literature with the family. I hope you all enjoy. Until then, feel free to check out my other published materials.