So, I hate my neighbors. They’re garbage humans, and their shithole of a yard feels like an outdoors episode of ‘Hoarders’. Of the umpteen vehicles littering the property, I’m unsure which (if any) are functional, which are being used for parts and which may (or may not) be used cars for sale. Music blasts, engines rev, and profanities are spewed at all hours of the day and night…and vehicles depart the property at dangerously high speeds. Needless to say, I’m at the end of my rope.
As recommended by a friend, who happens to be a therapist, I am expressing my feelings in written form. I’m told that doing so serves as a healthy form of venting. Also, I have decided to do so in 5-7-5 Haiku timing. So far, I have come up with three of them.
- Shit. Have you no pride?
- Your place looks like a junkyard.
- Damn Garbage Humans.
- Hey. It’s ten-p-m.
- Here you come on ATV’s.
- Fuck. I hate you all.
- Nice music shit bags.
- Florida-Georgia Line blowwwwws.
- I’ll burn down your house.
Wow. I really do feel better. Well, a little…
While it’s unlikely that I’ll be named the Poet Laureate of North Central Massachusetts, it is my hope that the above begins to paint the picture of what my family and I experience on a daily basis. Now, don’t get me wrong, as the son of a truck driver and a retired school bus driver, I’m not that much further up the socio-economic ladder; born into white trash, I know what I’m about and have no delusions of grandeur. But while I’ve eaten my fair share of cake frosting on white bread sammiches (mom couldn’t afford Little Debbie) I like to think that I’ve matured into a semi-respectable adult. I have a great job. My bills are paid. My house is clean. I drive a nice car. My daughter excels in all that she does. Life is good.
Well, almost…
Because I’d be remiss if I failed to admit that our quality of life wasn’t hindered by the existence of slaw-jacked yokels, fueled by 30-packs of Natural Ice and rape-y country music. When my daughter attempts to fall sleep at night, you decide to race your unregistered ATVs in the dark, without headlights guide your way. Why hasn’t Darwinism kicked in yet? You have massive bonfires that smell distinctly of old car tires and wet fiberglass insulation, and yet no embers have made their way onto your tinderbox house. From the front lawn torn up by the countless vehicles which dominate it on a daily basis to the dilapidated garage, where the massive hole in the roof is covered by a poorly-secured and wind-ravaged blue tarp, you do even less with what little you have…and that’s saying something.
Don’t even get me started on that Thanksgiving Eve, two years back, when their drunk friend drove his truck through my lawn, off my retaining wall, and into our pond! AAARGH! Why won’t they DIE?
But, I digress. Do you have (or have you ever had) garbage human neighbors? Or maybe you’re a garbage human neighbor, yourself? Don’t worry, I won’t judge…
Fuck that. I’m judging hard…the burning tire fumes are unsettling.
